Again and Again
by Athey
Summary: The Do-Over Fic - a chance to do things again, but this time-To Get it Right. But is it really such a blessing as it appears? A jaded, darker, bitter, and tired wizard who just wants to die; but can't. A chance to learn how to live, from the most unexpected source. slytherin!harry, dark!harry, eventual slash, lv/hp
1. Chapter 1

AN: I really like this one. I've bounced back onto it a few times over the last 5 months, and bounced off of it several times. I would really really like to keep going on it, at some point. I'm not sure if I can though – so here's your warning: **I may never finish this story.**

It may end up as just one more abandoned story that my muse left me on.

If you've read my other current on-going story, 'Professor Monroe', you'll see a lot of familiar concepts in this one. I was writing the two stories at the same time – bouncing back and forth between the two of them and two other stories, at the same time. The overall premise is HUGELY DIFFERENT. It's the little supporting things that are the same; the way wizarding politics work, the way Horcruxes work, the reason Harry survived the killing curse – _those_ are the same.

'Professor Monroe's' Harry is a very cannon-compliant Harry. He's fifteen and has the mindset of a 15 year old. That is very much not the case with the Harry in this story.

This story spans a bunch of years – in 200 pages, I get all the way up to Harry's 4th year, so there's a lot of time skipping and 'telling'. It's also told from many different perspectives. You don't get a glimpse inside Harry's mind until the start of second year – but we'll get there pretty quickly, so don't worry.

– – –

Title: Again and Again

Rating: Eventual Mature

Pairing: Tom Riddle/Voldemort x Harry Potter

Themes: Do-Over fics, political intrigue, time-travel-sort-of?, Slytherin!Harry, SLASH,** eventual romantic relationship between two men**

Summary: Harry Potter vanished from the Dursley's doorstep. Dumbledore couldn't find him. He appears just before his 1st year but he's a cold and aloof child. Sorted into Slytherin-a prodigy? So many questions & an answer no one would guess.

– – – – – –

_Machiavellian_

_Ma·chi·a·vel·li·an_

_adj._

_1. of, like, or befitting Machiavelli. _

_2. being or acting in accordance with the principles of government analyzed in Machiavelli's The Prince, in which political expediency is placed above morality and the use of craft and deceit to maintain the authority and carry out the policies of a ruler is described. _

_3. characterized by subtle or unscrupulous cunning, deception, expediency, or dishonesty: He resorted to Machiavellian tactics in order to get ahead. _

– –

_Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

November 1981

He didn't understand how it had happened, but Albus Dumbledore was in a panic. He had left the young Harry Potter on the Dursley's doorstep with a nice warming charm and under a heavy sleeping spell, so it simply didn't make sense that he could have up and wandered off, but the Dursley's insisted they'd never seen the boy. They found the basket and the letter, but no baby, and no blanket.

They'd thought the whole thing some sort of sick joke, and were none-too-pleased when Albus Dumbledore had come to their doorstep some week later when his little spindly devices told him that the wards he had erected had not took.

His worst fear was that little Harry Potter had been taken, and as tracking spell after tracking spell failed, his fears grew and grew. He had to be behind wards of some sort for such a thing to be possible, which meant he was with a witch or wizard. The only consolation he had was that his instruments still told him that young Harry Potter was alive.

January 1982

He had just received word from the goblins of Gringotts; Harry Potter's vault had been accessed. He had rushed to the bank to ask his questions, but the results were frustratingly limited. The only way a person could gain access to the vault without the key was to provide a sample of blood that matched their magical records for Potter blood. And somehow, the person who had entered the bank, had done just that. But the person that the goblins said had entered the bank had been an adult – or at least, he had appeared to be an adult. The goblins refused to give him a memory of what the man looked like. They did say that the next time he came in, they would do one of their standard security checks on the man, but that was all. He _wanted_ them to notify him immediately if the man came in, but they refused.

It was outrageously frustrating.

October 1984

The man had come and gone a few more times at the bank, and that was the only clue that Albus Dumbledore had towards Harry Potter's continued existence. His instruments still said the child was alive, but his tracking and scrying spells continued to turn up nothing. The goblins had informed him that the man who was coming into their bank and occasionally withdrawing money from the Potter vaults was probably under Polyjuice, or possibly using glamours. Every time he came, he looked a little different, but every time he passed the blood test and was able to enter the vault.

He didn't come very often; no more than twice a year, and generally he made vaguely sizable withdrawals – although not all that large with the total vault size taken into account. Just enough for a person to live in relative comfort without having to work. It would probably be a modest amount for a single person to live off of. Another curious thing was that the person in question always had the goblins convert the majority of the money withdrawn, into muggle money.

It was very little to go off of, and he knew his worry and frustration was obvious to others. Minerva still hadn't forgiven him for losing Harry Potter in the first place, and _still_ often ragged on him needing to come clean with the Ministry so they could properly enlist their assistance in the search.

He was not willing to do that, however. Minister Bagnold wasn't exactly a bad leader, but she didn't get on well with Albus, all truth be told, and Albus was even more wary of the man who appeared to be in the lead for the next election. The last thing he was willing to risk was the Ministry sticking their nose into the raising of Harry Potter.

But perhaps Minerva had a point – even the Ministry might be preferable to the mystery man who had Harry Potter now.

July 1991

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had gathered with his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, in the tiny tower room where an enchanted quill wrote the addresses on the envelopes for the letters that were sent out to the students each summer. The quill had just come to life that morning and always started with the new first years. It wrote the muggleborns names with blue ink while it wrote the wizarding children's names in green – it was one of the ways Minerva knew which draft of the letter to include, and whether or not the child should get a home visit.

The pair of them stood with bated breath as the quill made its way through the alphabet and drew ever closer to the name _Harry Potter._

Albus knew he was still alive – at least, all of his spells said so – and the slow bi-annual withdrawals had continued all these years. The person making the withdrawals had continued to use disguises – coming into the bank looking like a different person every time – and Albus had continued to be stumped in his efforts to find out who the man was, or where Harry Potter was being kept.

There had been a few occasional sightings of Harry Potter over the years, and Albus had always rushed to investigate any of them, but he could never be sure if they were real sightings, people out for attention, or people just imagining things. And none of them had ever lead him to any useful information.

Now it was only two months until the start of what would be Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts, and his only hope was that the quill could now tell him where to find the boy.

"Albus!" Minerva gasped as the quill began writing 'Mr. H. Potter, #16 Veronica Gardens, Streatham Vale, England'

He could have laughed, he was so filled with relief. If only he could have somehow gotten this ruddy quill to cooperate sooner, but the magic that governed it was beyond even him. It was such an ancient and powerful artifact – crafted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself.

Albus grabbed the envelope and made to leave with it in hand when Minerva stopped him, dragged him down to her office so that they could put the actual letter into the envelope, and then insisted that he take her along with so that she could see for herself just how Harry Potter had grown up.

Minerva had been to Steatham Vale before, while Albus had not, so she was the one that apparated the pair of them to the nearest location to the address. They appeared relatively near the Steatham Common Station and the pair then walked through the plainly muggle neighborhoods until they reached Veronica Gardens.

Number 16, it turned out, was a ground-level flat in a building that held six flats – three ground floor, and three on the second floor. Number 16 was on the end, with a small private garden and the pair quickly made their way down the small path to the front door. Albus knocked and waited with baited breath for any sign of life beyond. Two long minutes passed before the door was pulled open and a bleary-eyed young man with messy black hair and thin-rimmed round spectacles appeared beyond it wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. He blinked at them several seconds before heaving a rather resigned sounding sigh.

"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"That's right," the boy said stepping back and motioning the two inside. Minerva and Albus shared a brief look before stepping inside. Harry Potter closed the door behind them and waved his hand lazily towards the open reception room's small couch before walking into the small kitchenette area that was part of the room at the back wall. From what they could tell, it was a very modest little 1-room flat. Just beyond the kitchenette were two doors, both open, showing a bathroom and a bedroom. From a quick glance into the kitchenette, Dumbledore was almost positive he could see a small wizarding cauldron hanging over the gas stove.

"Mr. Potter, I –"

"Do you want tea?" Potter asked flatly, cutting him off.

"Ah... yes, please. Thank you," Dumbledore said, blinking in surprise at the suddenness of the odd situation.

Potter spent the next few minutes arranging a small tray with hot water, tea, milk, sugar and some biscuits before bringing it over and setting it on a small circular end table between two of the arm chairs that currently housed Albus and Minerva. He had to shove a few bits of rubbish and a few opened letters off, which he then took into the kitchenette and and setting it on the counter and the rubbish into the bin.

"Be right back," he called out before disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing a moment later with a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of gray trousers on. He let himself fall heavily onto the couch and just looked at the two professors with resignation written all over his face.

The two professors exchanged a brief look before turning their attention back on the young man in front of them. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Mr. Potter, is your... guardian available?"

"No."

Dumbledore blinked in surprise at the abrupt response.

"No?"

Potter just raised his eyebrows, somewhat questioningly.

"Er... when will one be available –"

"I live here on my own."

"On your own?" Minerva exclaimed.

"You're here about Hogwarts?" Potter _said_, rather than really asked, ignoring their obvious confusion and disbelief about his guardian situation.

"Yes, we are," Dumbledore answered hesitantly. "But –"

"I already know about the school. I don't need the muggleborn house visit, and I can get my own supplies. Do you have the letter with you?" Harry said, again cutting him off.

"Mr. Potter," Minerva said in a somewhat scolding tone, "please do not interrupt."

"We have been searching for you for a great many years, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, "and I'm afraid I must insist on meeting who it is thats been looking after you these years."

"There's no one to meet. _I've_ been taking care of me."

"You can't seriously mean that you've been living here alone? For how long?" Minerva exclaimed.

"Long enough," Potter replied coldly. "Do you have the letter?"

The two professors gaped at him for a moment before exchanging another silent look. Dumbledore reached into his robes and extracted the heavy parchment envelope and handed it over. Harry broke the wax seal, pulled the sheets out and skimmed over the letter before moving onto the supply list.

"Do you need a written response?" he asked absently as he read the list.

"Excuse me?" Minerva asked.

"It says to write back by July 31st, stating whether or not I'll be attending, but since the two of you are here, will my word be enough, or do you _need_ a written response?"

"Your word will be sufficient," she said haltingly. "But we would still need to speak with your guardian –"

"I don't have one. I live by myself."

"You're only ten!"

"Hasn't been a problem so far," he said in a bored tone.

"Well it's a problem now. Now that we know where you are, I'm afraid that you _must_ be placed in a proper home," Dumbledore insisted gravely. "You are not safe here, especially not by yourself."

"I've been safe so far," Potter replied with a single arched eyebrow. "_You_ couldn't find me, could you?"

"A ten-year old child cannot live alone!" Minerva insisted sharply.

"If you try to force me to live somewhere that I do not wish to live, I will vanish, and you will never find me again," Potter said coldly. "If you want me to attend your school, you will leave me to do as I like for the two months out of the year that I am not in attendance at Hogwarts. If you insist on meddling in my personal affairs, then I will _not_ be attending Hogwarts, and you will never see me again."

Both professors stared at him, utterly dumbstruck and mute.

"I will be remaining _here_, until the end of August. I will be ending my lease and putting my furniture in storage, seeing as how I see no purpose in paying rent on a flat that will remain empty for ten months. I will live at Hogwarts for the school year, and most likely rent a temporary flat next summer," Harry stated with a sense of stubborn finality.

"You can _not_ live alone for two whole months!" Minerva exclaimed.

"I can, and I will, unless you do not want me attending your school."

"You cannot blackmail us, Mr. Potter! It is not only unethical to allow this living arrangement continue, it is illegal. A ten year old boy cannot live –"

Potter stood up abruptly, glaring at the two of them coldly. "Get out."

"What?" Minerva squawked.

"You are not welcome in my home if you are going to make threats."

"Now, calm down, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, raising his hands appeasingly. "I'm sure that we can come to an understanding without the need for threats."

"If I were anyone else, the two of you wouldn't even be here, and you wouldn't be paying the least bit of attention to my living arrangements," Potter said flatly.

"But you are _not_, anyone else," Dumbledore said kindly. "Are you aware of your standing in the wizarding world, Mr. Potter? There are certain individuals who would wish you harm, and I fear for your safety in these living arrangements. It is only for your own health and well being that we worry."

"I'm perfectly aware of my 'standing' in the wizarding world, and I have taken sufficient precautions against anyone who would wish ill to my person. _You_ couldn't find me, and you actually had some of my hair, and maybe even a bit of blood. If _you_ couldn't track me down all these years, given such a strong and unlikely advantage, do you honestly think that some old death eater who escaped prosecution could find me?"

Again, Dumbledore and Minerva appeared rather lost for words.

"Perhaps we could reach a compromise, at least for the remainder of this summer's arrangements. I could station someone to observe your dwelling to make sure that you are sufficiently safe?"

"Unnecessary," Potter said flatly.

"You would never even know they were there. They would be incredibly discreet."

"I have no desire to allow complete strangers to spy on my every movement for the next two months."

Dumbledore blanched. "They would hardly be _spying_ on you, Mr. Potter. They would be – _bodyguards_, of a sort. It would be their job to observe the area surrounding your flat for any signs of someone who could have harmful intentions."

Potter closed his eyes and took in several slow, deep breaths, as if he were trying to reign in his temper.

"That will not be necessary."

"Please, Mr. Potter – for my sake, and the sake of my state of mind – I would feel _monumentally better_, if I knew you were safe."

Dumbledore looked up at him with pleading, sparkling blue eyes, holding the cold steady gaze of the ten-year-old boy standing before him for several long moments.

"No."

– –

_A prince must imitate the fox and the lion, for the lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves. Those that wish to be only lions do not understand this. _

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Severus Snape would reluctantly admit – if only to himself – that he had a lot of preconceived notions in his mind as to what to expect from Harry Potter. He hadn't even met the spawn yet, and yet he was already convinced that the boy would be a carbon copy of his father. He had made an effort over the past few years to to keep himself as distanced as possible from all things Harry Potter.

When Albus somehow managed to _lose_ the boy-who-lived and then went on his eternal crusade to try and track the boy down, Severus still tried not to get involved. Sure, he got roped into some bits of the search – mostly, he had been responsible for subtly keeping an eye and ear open for any whispers of members of his old crowd having acquired him. But after several years had passed without even the slightest hint or indication as to where the boy might be, he basically stopped even trying.

The fact that a man, in disguise, but apparently of _Potter blood_, was accessing the spawn's Gringott's vault told Severus that the boy was clearly _not_ in the hands of a Death Eater. Chances were that Potter's bastard of a father had some sort of illegitimate relation that Albus simply didn't _know about_, who had realized that Tuney Evans was a horrid awful bitch, and had rescued the brat from Albus' ill conceived plan to leave the boy with muggles.

Admittedly, Severus had been a bit surprised when he first learned that this had been Albus' intended destination for the child. If he had honestly known about it before hand – and if the child had actually reached that destination and _stayed there_ – he probably would have raised a bit of a stink. No matter how much he despised James Potter, he couldn't have, in good conscious, allowed Lily's son to be raised by her awful bitch of a sister.

But instead, he had apparently been raised by some unknown Potter relation, in secret. This fact only cemented Severus' expectation that the boy would show up to Hogwarts, acting as if he owned the place; just as arrogant and obnoxious as his father had been. Straight to Gryffindor; destined to be the Headmaster's favorite little pet, and allowed to get away with murder, while he snubbed the rules left and right.

When he learned that Albus and Minerva _had_ in fact, found Potter and paid him a visit, it only cemented Severus' belief that all of their excessive panicked searched had been a monumental waste of time, and was glad he had stopped his involvement early on. The fact that Potter had apparently refused their insistence for some sort of security guard, only cemented his belief that Potter was an arrogant little snot.

Of course Albus had ignored the boy's refusal and had rounded up a few volunteers from the Old Crowd and sent them to watch the boy's home, only to find it empty. And once again, Albus had spent a ridiculous amount of his time scrying for the boy, all over again. Of course, he hadn't found him, and _now_ he was basically in a panic, convinced that Potter wouldn't even be _coming_ to Hogwarts.

Severus, in contrast, was firmly _ignoring_ the whole ridiculous drama, and instead focusing on preparing for the new school year, _like the headmaster should be_.

So when September first finally rolled around, Severus was quite determined to not spare even a moments thought about the blasted boy-who-lived-to-make-his-life-overly-complicated. Albus had, of course, had someone stationed at Kings Cross to watch for any sign of the boy, and had made quite a show of being excessively relieved when he got word that Harry Potter _had_ shown up and boarded the Hogwarts Express. But still, Severus was not going to let it take precedence in his mind.

When the students showed up that evening, and he found himself sitting at the head table watching the first years being led in, single-file, by Minerva, he _did not_ search out the boy in the crowd, because he didn't damn well _care_. When his eyes just happened to fall upon him, a sneer instinctively spread across his lips as he was greeted with exactly what he'd expected. A miniature James Potter, in every way possibly visible. The messy black hair and spectacles; the same facial features Potter had in his first year; the same everything. Well, except his eyes. But from the distance Severus was sitting at, it was fairly easy to ignore the painfully familiar eyes, when every other feature was taking clear precedence.

The boy clearly was as arrogant as he expected, too. Where his peers were gazing around the Great Hall in awe and amazement, Potter actually looked _bored_. His expression was closed off and cold, which Severus would admit was not the sort of expression that Potter, Sr. would have had at this moment. That snot would have been grinning like pompous loon, and probably laughing about something at someone else's expense.

He might have even tried to trip someone as they walked past him to sit on the stool and be sorted.

Because he was just that sort of bastard.

But Potter never one laughed or even _smiled_ at any of the other children. His expression remained bored and indifferent during the entire first half of the sorting. He didn't once speak with any of the other children standing in line, and didn't seem to even be paying attention as his year mates were sorted.

When his name was called, the hall was filled with excited whispers, and the students all craned their necks and leaned in various directions, attempting to get a look at the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Potter's head remained held high and arrogant as ever as he strode forward, not bothering to so much as acknowledge those around him whom he had clearly deemed irrelevant. He sat on the stool and Minerva lowered the hat. Severus waited, expecting a quick sorting, straight into Gryffindor. So when the hat began to move, and the rip in it's side opened up to speak, less than ten seconds after being placed upon the boy's head, Severus was not surprised in the least.

He _was_ surprised, however, when the hat called out _'Slytherin!'_.

It was as if the world had just cracked and shattered. There was deafening silence in the hall, except for a few _gasps_ of shock. Then there was applause. But _only_ from the Slytherin table, and only from certain portions of it. A number were quite enthusiastic, and puffed in with pride at having acquired the famous Boy-Who-Lived for their often-sneered-at house, but there were also quite clearly some among the table of green and silver that were scowling quite deeply, and then some others that just looked bewildered.

It was the rest of the tables that looked the most _stunned_ however. Clearly, no one had expected _The_ Harry Potter to end up in _Slytherin._

Least of all, Severus Snape.

Potter had stood up with calm and grace, handed the hat to a stunned Minerva, and then strode just as calmly over to the still applauding Slytherin table. He'd sat down next to Daphne Greengrass and across from Draco Malfoy. He then proceeded to pointedly ignore _everyone_. This continued on through the rest of the sorting, and then on even further through the actual feast.

He had looked up at a few people who had addressed him with questions, and seemed to nod on occasion. He even appeared to speak once or twice, but they were always very short exchanges. He apparently didn't deem any of his new house mates _worthy_ of his attentions.

Arrogant little snot.

Severus was definitely _not_ spending his entire meal watching the Potter spawn, because he _still_ didn't give a damn about the brat. And he most certainly didn't give a damn if the little shit was now his responsibility. In fact, he was pointedly _not thinking_ about the fact that he was now the boy's Head of House, because that thought would be awful.

Some might think that he would enjoy having such power over the boy, but Severus took his Head duties seriously. When a child was in his house, they were his responsibility. He was their surrogate parent for the ten months out of the year that they were at Hogwarts, and while he was certainly not one to _coddle_ them, he did still _care_ about them. He was invested in every one of them, no matter what it appeared to the rest of the school. And he did not want to be invested in Harry Potter.

Quirrell made a few half-assed attempts to engage him in conversation during the meal, but Severus became too frustrated with the man's idiotic stutter to endure it for very long. Minerva seemed to have shut down a bit – no doubt she was horribly disappointed at not having the latest Potter progeny under her care – but she was still a better conversationalist than the stuttering fool.

Finally the meal was done and Albus made his annual welcoming speech. This one included a warning to all the students to stay away from the third floor unless they wanted to die a horrible death. That wasn't sure to bring about disaster at all – _Noo_, of course not. It was never a bad idea to tell children where _not _to go, via threat of danger and adventure. Severus would be surprised if they didn't have at least one or two horribly maimed Gryffindors by the end of the week.

They'd probably be identical, and have red hair.

Finally the students were dismissed and Severus watched as his newest batch of Slytherins were lead out by this years new fifth year prefects. Fifteen minutes later, Severus entered the Slytherin Common Room down in the Hogwarts Dungeons and found himself standing in front of a group of tiny eleven-year-olds – most of which looked at least somewhat terrified. Those that didn't _look_ terrified, clearly still were, but were trying not to show it. Well, Draco didn't look terrified. He looked smug. Like he already knew he owned the place. Blast it all, but Severus knew that his godson was probably going to give him trouble. Lucius was a proud man and had been firm in his raising of his son, but Narcissa had spoiled the boy rotten. Hell, even Lucius had spoiled him. There had never been a thing Draco wanted that he didn't get.

Potter, was the only other exception. He didn't look terrified; nor did he look overwhelmed or intimidated in the least. He still just looked... _bored_. It was quite infuriating.

Severus decided that, at this point, he would simply _ignore_ Potter and give himself a few nights to try and figure out how exactly he wanted to approach this latest unexpected complication to his life. So he gave his standard welcoming speech, complete with threats of miserable detentions scrubbing cauldrons for anyone stupid enough to get caught with one toe out of line, by any of the other Professors. Finally he dismissed them all and left to the sanctuary of his own private quarters, and a sifter of strong brandy.

– –

_A prudent ruler ought not to keep faith when by so doing it would be against his interest, and when the reasons which made him bind himself no longer exist. If men were all good, this precept would not be a good one; but as they are bad, and would not observe their faith with you, so you are not bound to keep faith with them._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Draco Malfoy watched as Potter calmly walked through their new room, straight to the bed that now had his two identical trunks stacked up in front of it, and extracted his wand from up his sleeve. A simple flick of his wand and one of the trunks moved off to the side and popped open. He reached inside and pulled out... a piece of parchment?

Draco's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to better observe this new enigma. Potter turned and faced the room at large, waiting only a moment before clearing his throat rather loudly. Theo stood up from where he'd been bending over his own trunk, and Vince and Greg turned to look at him blankly. Blaise, like Draco, had already been observing Potter curiously.

"I have a proposition to make," Potter stated in a cool, calm tone.

"A _proposition?"_ Blaise echoed with incredulous amusement.

Potter used his foot to kick his closed trunk out into the open center of the room and then took the piece of parchment he was holding and slapped it down on top of it. "I propose that what happens in this room, _stays_ in this room. This is a magical contract. It will only take effect if we _all_ sign it. I had my solicitor write it up to make sure there's no loop holes – you're all welcome to read it, of course, before you sign it. It's nothing as serious as an unbreakable vow, or even a magical oath. You don't die, or lose your magic if you break it, but you will experience pain if you attempt to break the agreement, and if you fully break it, your skin will turn green, you'll become violently ill, and you'll break out in painful boils.

"The agreement states that anything that any of us hear, see, or perceive in any way, while in the privacy of this room, is secret, and cannot be relayed to anyone outside of the occupants of this dorm. Not to the teachers, not to gossip to the other students, not to the press, and not to any _law authorities._"

"And why, exactly, would any of us want to sign something like _that?_" Nott asked incredulously.

"Because right now, I only _theoretically_ know that four of your father's bare tattoos on their left forearms. Certainly nothing that could hold up in court. However we are going to be sharing this room for the next seven years. Do you honestly want to live ten months out of the year, for seven years, constantly paranoid that I might witness something incriminating? Or overhear you say something I shouldn't overhear, and repeat it to the wrong person? Do you want to spend the next seven years hiding any forbidden paraphernalia? Any Dark Arts books? Any _questionable_ artifacts? Do you want to have to hide it when you celebrate the Sabbaths or the Solstices because you're afraid that one of us might report you to the Ministry? No, of course not. Living like that would suck. This is our _dorm room_. We should all feel safe here. Comfortable and secure in the knowledge that while we are in _this room_, we are safe. Safe from any backhanded spying, or having our actions watched and reported to others."

"So whats the benefit for you then?" Draco asked, staring at Harry through narrowed eyes. "This sounds like it protects us from you being able to rat on us, but what do _you_ get out of it? It seems to me that someone who would offer up something like this, has something to hide."

"Of course I do," Potter drawled, rolling his eyes. "But this also means that I'm protected against any of you lot selling photos of me taken while I'm in my pants, or giving out private gossip about me, to the press. I don't have to worry about you selling out information on me for the sake of attention, or money or blackmail. Of course, anything that happens out of this room is still fair game, but at least we all know that when we're in this room, we're safe."

Draco continued to stare at Potter with speculative suspicion, but slowly a smirk found its way onto his face. "You know, I wondered if maybe the Hat had gone cracked when it sorted _Harry Potter_ into Slytherin, but I think it might have known what it was doing after all."

Potter just cocked a single eyebrow, daringly, before jerking his head down towards the parchment on his trunk.

"Gonna read it?"

Draco made an amused sort of scoffing noise but did walk over and pick it up. It was obvious that it had been made by a professional. Draco had seen magical contracts constructed by his father's solicitors before. In fact... he held it up to the light and saw the faint watermark in the parchment, bringing a snort and another smirk to his lips. It was the same firm that his father employed.

Potter clearly knew what he was doing if he'd hired them. All the more reason to read it over, thoroughly. Potter opened up his other trunk and pulled out a few more sheets of parchment, telling the others that they were extra copies that they could read over, but that only the original would bare their signatures. They each took them, with some level of cautious distrust, and the boys set to reading over the contract in silence. Greg and Vincent muttered a bit in confusion, and asked Draco to clarify a few words that were too big for them to understand. In the end, Draco decided the contract was free of any hidden trap doors or loop holes that Potter could use to stab them all in the back.

He wasn't sure that he really _wanted_ to be prevented from telling others – especially his _father – _about the things that Potter did while in their room, but in all honestly, how big of a difference could it make? He'd still be able to talk about anything he saw Potter doing when _not_ in their dorm room, and it would be nice to not have to be so damned paranoid about the things his room mates saw or heard him do or say. Not just Potter, but _any_ of them.

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea for him to sign the thing without consulting his father first, however. But then Potter went and muttered something about Draco being his own man, or if he was just going to hang on the coat tails of his father's name and power his whole life. Draco knew he'd flushed with anger at that. He _knew_ he was probably being manipulated. That didn't change the fact that he signed the paper shortly after that, anyway.

Greg and Vincent followed a moment later. Then Theo Nott did the same. Blaise hesitated the longest, but eventually, even he signed it. As soon as Potter had signed it, it glowed blue, shot out little lights to each of them that flashed for only the briefest moments before disappearing, and then the parchment vanished. Potter let them each keep copies and included a sheet that detailed what firm they had to write to if they wanted to request viewing the original. It would apparently be stored there for safe keeping.

Part of the contract stated that they could openly talk about the contract's existence, so if anyone ever asked Draco a question about Potter that he couldn't answer because it would be confidential information, he could at least still explain to them _why_ he couldn't answer. Apparently it was even an admissible reason in court for not testifying about something. One of the Ministry's laws forbid forcing anyone to testify on a subject matter that they had made an unbreakable vow, or similar oath, that could jeopardize their health or magic, should they violate it.

That was one of the final points that got Draco. Now he could _literally_ perform illegal Dark Arts, right in front of Harry Potter's nose – so long as he did it within the confines of their dorm room – and not have to worry at all about being reported to the Headmaster or the Ministry. And no matter how awful a thing Draco did, Potter couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't tell _anyone_.

Draco actually thought he was being pretty clever in having signed the contract.

Right up until the moment that Potter reached into his second trunk and brought out a small glass aquarium tank, set it on the corner of his desk and pulled out a tiny little snake – which he then proceeded to have a conversation with. _In parseltongue._

Harry Potter was a parselmouth, and Draco couldn't tell a soul.

All Draco could hope was that, at some point, Potter would speak to the thing outside of the safety of their dorm room, because he _knew_ his father would be furious with Draco for not telling him such a _huge_ discovery.

– –

_Dear Father,_

_It pleases me to write to you with the expected result that I was sorted into Slytherin. Not that there was ever any doubt on the matter. What was of some significant surprise was that Harry Potter was also sorted into Slytherin. The Harry Potter is now my room mate for the next seven years. You should have seen the look on the Headmaster's face when the hat called out Slytherin. The whole Hall was shocked stupid. It was laughable. _

_I do have a matter of potential problem to admit to, however. Upon entering our new dorm room, after Uncle Severus' greeting speech, Potter addressed the other five of us to make a 'Proposition'. He had a professionally drafted magical agreement that stated, basically, what happens in the dorm room, remains in the dorm room. It prevents any of us from revealing specific events that have been witnessed, heard, etcetera, in the privacy of our dorm room, to anyone outside of our group, for any reason. _

_The way he presented it was quite appealing, I must admit. He made it sound as if he were only doing it for the sake of preventing us from selling private information about him to the gossip mongering press, or the student body at large. He is a celebrity, after all, and it seemed like something he would be reasonably concerned over. In exchange for him not having photos of him in his shorts sold to Witch Weekly, we would be guaranteed safety should Potter ever, during the course of the next seven years, witness or overhear something of an illicit nature that could implicate any of the rest of us. _

_This would mean that I could perform the personal sabbath rituals in the privacy of my dorm without worry of being reported to Dumbledore, or even worse, the Ministry. It would mean I wouldn't have to be quite so paranoid about reading potentially questionable books in the privacy of my bed. Having __Harry Potter__ as a room mate does, obviously, put me into a bit of an annoying position, as far as how comfortable I can be in my own room._

_So the proposition seemed quite appealing. I thoroughly read the contract for a good long while, searching for any potential loop holes. It's quite air tight, and does not appear to overly benefit Potter in any imaginable way. It is equal protection, for all of us. The solicitor firm that drafted it for him is Dodge, E. and Dodge, E. R. – the same firm you yourself use, so I know it's solid. You can write to them and request a copy of it, and a consultation from them for their opinion on it._

_Here is where I must admit I am now concerned. I suppose I really should have consulted you before signing it, and I beg that you are not too overly upset with me. I thought that it would make you proud that I was taking such a precaution, however now I worry that you may in fact be disappointed._

_I cannot say much – in fact, just putting my quill to the parchment at this moment is causing me a bit of a headache – however Harry Potter does not seem to be what I would have thought him to be. I rather doubt now, having seen a few things already, that his sole reason for presenting us with the contract, was for the sake of protecting himself from gossip and reporters._

_He has secrets, father. Big secrets._

_And now I am in a position where I cannot tell you what they are. Only that you should pay attention to Harry Potter. He isn't the sort of person people expect him to be. If ever there is anything that I can tell you that happens outside of the dorm room, I will, right away._

_Please do not be too angry with me, Father. I was only doing what I thought would protect you, myself and our family._

_Give mother my love. I will write again soon._

_Draco_

– –

Severus Snape left the cool comfort of the dungeons and made his way towards the fourth floor where the teacher's lounge and conference room was located. It was one month into the new school year and it was once again time for them all to gather so that they could gossip and brag about their students to one another. He sneered in anticipation of how much he was going to hate the next few hours. He always despised these meetings.

He rather preferred _not_ to talk about his Slytherins and their problems with the other professors. On the occasion when he discovered one of his students showing signs of home abuse, or some other such problem, he would discreetly discuss it with Albus on a one-to-one basis, or not at all, and would just go straight to the parent to make his threats in secret.

Slytherin problems were dealt with, within Slytherin house. He saw no point is airing his snake's dirty laundry amongst his faculty peers. He also rarely saw much point in trying to brag about them, since the rest of the teachers were all biased against Slytherin and never seemed to pay him any attention when he tried.

But then again, he supposed he did have _one_ student this year that the others would probably be talking about a great deal.

He entered the room to find it was already mostly filled and seated himself in the empty chair between Minerva and Filius, and unfortunately, across from Quirrell. The stench of garlic was eye watering, and most entirely unpleasant. He tried to spend as little time as possible in the man's company these days, but he was beginning to suspect that there was something decidedly _wrong_ with the man. It was one thing for him to come back from a years sabbatical unreasonably frightened of _everything_, but there were also other things that didn't quite sit right with Severus.

It was only another minute before the last of them finally made her way into the room – Trelawney always took the longest to get to their meetings. She seemed eternally set on spending the rest of her days in that tower, and Severus was honestly perfectly happy with her staying up there and never coming out, thank-you-very-much.

Albus called the meeting to order and as was standard, it started with the four heads of house and discussions of how their new first years were adapting to life in a boarding school. Pomona went first and as was also standard, spent quite a bit of time talking about which of new Hufflepuffs had cried on her shoulder the most with insipid homesickness. The others would contribute their observations on members of her house – mostly very little was mentioned, although some did point out that Zacharias Smith was proving to be a bit of a minor bully, and Pomona might want to keep an eye on the boy.

Gryffindor once again had another crop of mediocre morons for boys, as far as Severus was concerned. He informed Minerva just how pitiful her lions were performing in his class with special emphasis on just how many cauldrons Neville Longbottom had already managed to melt. Weasley was a considerable disappointment. As much as Severus loathed his twin brothers for their excessive trouble-making tendencies, he had to admit that they were annoyingly brilliant potioneers. Percy Weasley, who had made prefect this year, was also quite accomplished academically. Severus wouldn't say the boy had any special talent for potions, but he was adequate and tried hard – if possibly a bit _too_ hard. Billius and Charlie had also both been at least reasonablely adept at his subject, but it appeared that Ronald wasn't even vaguely interested in _trying_. He was just _awful._

Minerva had grimaced when the Weasley boy was mentioned and admitted that he didn't seem to be the most academically inclined of her group – by a long shot – but at least he didn't seem inclined to get into nearly as much trouble as his third-year brothers. She said that she feared he felt overshadowed by his numerous brothers, and would take some considerable encouragement in his courses.

As far as Longbottom was concerned, she suspected that Agusta Longbottom had been rather harsh on the boy and his self esteem. The boy was certainly nothing like his father, Frank, had been. Severus hadn't exactly _liked_ the man, but he'd never been a prat.

Fillius mostly beamed and preened about his new crop of Ravenclaws. He thought they all had great potential. Severus thought they were all stuck-up little brats with an over-inflated sense of their own intellect, simply because they had been sorted into the house for 'smart students'. Which was rubbish, and everyone on staff knew it. Being in Ravenclaw most definitely didn't make you _smarter_ than your peers.

Hell, that annoying little Granger twit from Gryffindor was probably smarter than even the _second_ year Ravenclaws – put together!

But no one could beat Severus' own house, for sheer brilliance, and loath as he was to admit it, but the most glaringly obvious example of this was in fact, Harry Potter.

When discussion finally got to Potter, everyone was eager to share their observations, and Albus was also quite obviously eager to listen.

He was so quiet. So proper. So _smart_. A _prodigy_, Fillius had said. A _natural!_ Not a single question had been posed to the boy that he couldn't answer correctly, and yet the boy never offered up his hand when questions were asked. Severus had discovered this early on – if Potter were going to contribute to class, Severus himself would have to call on him to do so. He never volunteered on his own. Never raised his hand of his own prerogative and never volunteered to demonstrate something in class. Not like the Granger twit who would raise her hand at every blasted opportunity and shake it around like a manic intensity that gave Severus' headaches of disgust.

As much as Severus _hated_ the mere idea of awarding points to Potter's blasted spawn, he had also learned that it was a remarkably easy and effective way to gain Slytherin house mountains of points. They were already hugely in the lead, and no one could accuse Severus of unfair favoritism. In fact, he'd developed a lovely system of asking _Weasley_, or _Longbottom_ a question first, knowing full well that they had no idea what the answer was, and when they failed to answer it, he would pose the same question to Potter, who would get it right, and then proceed further along the same line, asking more and more questions, of increasing difficulty, until he'd gotten nearly fifty points for his house.

It was quite satisfying, honestly, and it turned Weasley's face the most horrid shade of red.

Oddly enough, Potter did not seem to revel in the attention, or even take any _pride_ in it. He never attempted to show off, as Severus had expected the boy to. As his father _would have done_. Instead he was always subdued, and often times _bored_. But Severus had noticed an amused glint in Potter's eyes after the third time Severus had followed the same pattern in class with his questions to the Gryffindors and then to Potter.

It appeared that Potter knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and found it somewhat funny.

The moment of satisfaction Severus got was quickly clouded by his own strong desire to _not_ like the boy, _no matter what_.

The others had noted Potter's frequent looks of utter _boredom _in class, and all mentioned it. They feared he wasn't being challenged enough, and that his work standards might fall behind if he became too bored. Or worse yet, he might act out if he wasn't being kept mentally stimulated.

His written work so far had also been impeccable, and Severus had mentally noted that it was clear the boy had been writing with a quill for many years. In fact, he had better penmanship than some adults he could think of – let alone an eleven year old child. Others had noted things that would indicate that he was clearly raised in a wizarding environment. Several even suggested that he _had_ to have had private tutors before now because no matter how brilliant a student is, it was simply _not normal_ to get every spell right on the first try, every time.

Certain movements were just too clumsy to perform smoothly until one had developed the proper muscle memory – which only happened after having performed the movements, repeatedly, for many years.

Potter _had_ that muscle memory. Even Severus, who only taught the boy _potions_, had been able to see that. In fact, Potter was one of the few students, along with Draco, that he allowed to make use of his wand in his class. Generally he considered it too dangerous for any of them to even have their wand accessible during brewing. But there were certain spells that did smooth along the brewing process – automatic timers, stirring spells, magically controlled temperature gauges for the flame, etcetera – that Potter was clearly familiar with.

Albus definitely looked concerned by all that the faculty had been saying about Potter – _deeply concerned_. He asked them how Potter was doing _socially_, rather than just academically, and the general consensus was that the boy was an introvert. He just didn't talk to people. As far as anyone could tell, he didn't have a single friend, although Severus had seen him conversing with his dorm mates genially enough. It was about as friendly as many Slytherins ever got with each other. There was never any real _trust_ – a limited friendship – the friendship of acquaintances – but only so far as the arrangement was beneficial to both parties.

At least he didn't seem to _snub_ his dorm mates. And curiously enough, they weren't snubbing him either. Well, some of the girls had seemed to in the beginning, but it seemed as if Potter had done something, very early on, that hat earned him the respect of his dorm mates. What that thing was, he had no idea, and apparently never would, if what Lucius had told him was true.

Severus considered bringing up the Contract Potter had conned his room mates into signing, with Albus, but as yet, had decided not to. It would only bring further paranoia to the old man, and greater scrutiny on the first year boys and their dorm. No matter what, Potter and his dorm mates were still under Severus' protection, and he would not sell them out so easily. As far as he knew, there was nothing to be concerned over anyway. The wards that he himself placed on the dorms prevented anything _too_ illegal from being kept within the dungeon dorms without him being notified, and nothing in Potter's two trunks had set off any of his alarms.

Goyle's trunk had, and he'd already had a talk with the boy about being more discreet with what he kept with him at school.

Albus asked the teachers to try and encourage Potter to be more _social_ with his peers – perhaps they could try more group assignments and try assigning Potter with different people in hopes of finding a good match that might grow into a friendship. Severus was rather positive it would all be a wasted effort. Potter simply did not _want_ to be friends with anyone.

When it became obvious that they could not waste any more of their time focused on a single first year student, Albus was forced to move things along to other matters, but an hour later when the meeting was finally drawing to a close, Albus asked Severus and Minerva to remain behind for a bit longer and the discussion was once again drawn back to Harry Potter. This time, on more private matters.

Albus had apparently not given up his attempts to find out the secrets behind Potter's last ten years, but had been ultimately unsuccessful at finding anything. He still had no idea who had raised the boy, and as such, had no idea what sort of ideology the boy might have been raised with. Was he pro-light? _Was he pro-dark? _Who had taught him? _What_ had they taught him? How had he gotten a wand so young and not been discovered using it? For that was the only reasonable explanation for his advanced level.

He asked the two of them if they could make attempts at gaining the boy's trust. Severus had scoffed at the mere idea of it, but Albus had been insistent. Severus was the boy's Head of House now, and someone that the boy was supposed to be able to turn to.

Minerva wasn't sure how exactly she could reach out to the boy – she wasn't his head of house, after all – but Albus suggested that she try pointing out her relationship with his parents. Perhaps the boy would like some more information about them? He also suggested this route to Severus who had loudly balked at the idea. He was obviously the _last _person who should be telling Harry Potter about James Potter.

Albus and Minerva both agreed, however, he _was_ a good source for information on _Lily_. After all, Severus had known Lily for even several years before they started Hogwarts.

This suggestion did not sit well with him at all, but he also found himself unable to snap back some sort of sharp retort to shoot the suggestion down.

He still didn't think it would work. He didn't think that Potter was stupid enough to be manipulated into giving out sensitive secrets, simply because he was offered scraps of information about his long dead parents. As much as Severus hated it he had to admit that he'd come to hold rather high opinion of the Potter brat's intelligence.

He had also long ago stopped questioning the Hat's senses on its decision to put the boy in Slytherin.

He _was_ a Slytherin. There was simply no denying it. It was _fact._

Having secured both Severus' and Minerva's reluctant promises to try and breech the boy's cold rock-hard exterior, and form some sort of trusting relationship, Albus heaved a sigh and dismissed them, muttering about how things could have possibly gone so very wrong.

– –


	2. Chapter 2

– –

_There are three kinds of intelligence: one kind understands things for itself, the other appreciates what others can understand, the third understands neither for itself nor through others. This first kind is excellent, the second good, and the third kind useless._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Draco, along with Theo, Blaise, Vincent and Greg piled into the Slytherin Common Room along with the rest of their housemates, all chattering with a mixture of hushed excitement and incredulity. Some were also quite _angry_, and Draco was one of them. He still couldn't believe the barmy old man had told them to go to their Common Rooms! Did he forget that the Slytherin Common Room was in the ruddy dungeon? Had Quirrell not just stated that there was a _troll_ in the dungeon?

It was _absurd!_ Not to mention _criminally negligent! _ He would be writing to his father about this in the morning, that was for sure!

Of course they hadn't encountered a troll, so maybe it wasn't in the dungeons, after all. Draco almost wished that it _had_ been. And that maybe someone would have been hurt – just _mildly_ hurt – nothing _too_ awful. If that had happened, it could very well have been grounds for having the barmy old coot kicked right out!

"They said we'd be continuing the feast in our common rooms, right?" Vincent asked, frowning, no doubt disappointed at having to leave all that candy behind.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Yes, Vince. That's what they said."

"But there's no food here!" Vincent whinged.

Draco cringed. Then he paused and glanced around. "Have any of you seen Potter?"

"He wasn't at the feast," Blaise said with a shrug.

Draco frowned deeper. It was hardly an uncommon thing for Potter to miss meals. He had apparently come to the school already knowing where to find the kitchens and how to score points with the house elves. He had it set now that he didn't even have to go down to the kitchens to eat his meals, but had rigged it so that one of the blasted little creatures actually _brought him food_. Even _Draco_ couldn't convince them to do that.

"Can you blame him? Everyone else is celebrating and eating pumpkin pasties, and this is the night both his parents _died_. I'd hardly feel like celebrating, if _I_ were him," Pansy drawled and Draco blinked at her. That was a shockingly insightful thing – especially for _her_ to pick up on. But she had a point.

"I'm going to check the dorm – see if he's there," Draco said in a bored tone and quickly walked towards and down the hallway that led to the dorms.

Upon entering the room he was greeted with a very familiar sight indeed. Potter was reading. He was _always_ reading. Okay, that wasn't true. Sometimes he was writing instead. He literally had a huge stack of moleskine notebooks in a space-expanded drawer in his desk, and every time he filled one of them up, he labeled it, stored it in his trunk, and moved on to the next book.

Draco had _no idea_ what the hell Potter was always writing – just that he was _always writing_. Scribbling away, at all hours, and in all classes. If he wasn't writing, he was reading. Like he was doing right now. But they weren't even _interesting_ books. Not most of the time, anyway. It wasn't like he was secretly reading Moste Potenty Potions, or Magick Moste Vile. No. He was reading _muggle fiction_. It was nearly enough to make Draco wretch.

He almost wondered how Potter hadn't ended up in Ravenclaw, but then he remembered everything _else_ he knew about Harry Potter and instantly stopped wondering.

"You're back early," Potter murmured absently as he turned another page in his book and kept right on reading.

"Quirrell came into the middle of the feast and announced that there was a troll in the dungeon, so of course, Dumbledore sent us all to our common rooms – ours of which is _in the dungeons_. Barmy old fool," Draco muttered irritatedly.

Potter looked up and blinked. "It's Halloween?"

Draco had to pause at that response. It was not what he would have expected. "Er, yes. You didn't know?"

"Blast! Guess I wasn't keeping track." Potter grumbled, frowning slightly and closing his book.

Okay... that was also odd.

He set his book on the wooden desk beside his assigned bed, jumped up and pulled one of his trunks out from under his bed. He used a spell to squash them flatter so that they'd actually fit down there – Draco _still_ didn't know what spell he used; the blasted boy always cast his spells silently when they were in their dorm room. Potter _finite'd _the spell, restoring the trunks normal proportions and began digging around inside it. He pulled out a leather bound book, an athame, a number of candles, and his potions kit from which he extracted salt and a few other herbs and things.

"Marcy!" Potter called out, and a moment later there was a _Pop_ and that damned elf he'd somehow enlisted the services of was standing in the room looking both eager and nervous.

"Yes, Young Master Potter?"

"Can you bring me some apples, pomegranates, and a pot of earth from the green houses?"

"Yes, right away. Marcy will be bringing what young master asked for," the elf chirped happily and vanished.

Draco blanched and gaped at Potter. "You're going to perform a Samhain sabbath ritual?"

Potter paused in his digging through his trunk and looked up at the boy for a long minute, appearing thoughtful. "Do you want to join?"

"Join?"

"Yeah. Do you want to do it too? Do you think Theo or Blaise would want to? Well, Vincent and Greg are welcome too, of course, but it'll get a bit complicated if we have all six of us involved."

"You're a pagan?" Draco exclaimed, still totally in shock.

Potter just frowned at him as if he'd said something very very stupid.

"Of course. I'm a _wizard_. And I'm no ignorant blood-traitor. I know my history, and I haven't abandoned tradition just because it's _popular_ and _progressive_ to be all open and accepting to the muggles' state mandated religion. The Ministry wanting to appease and bow down to the muggle government is no reason for me to pay that rubbish any mind. The Queen's church basically calls us all heathens and sinners. They used to _burn us at the stake_. Why would I pay any attention to _their_ practices and celebrations?"

"Practicing the sabbath rituals are illegal," Draco pointed out cautiously.

Potter snorted. "Just because the Ministry is filled with pandering, terrified, weak and helpless morons doesn't mean I give a rat's arse what _laws_ they've passed in regards to my religious practices," he muttered in obvious disdain.

Draco felt his respect for the boy raise another notch. Not that this was anything new. He was constantly surprising Draco. He was only ever this open or honest when in their dorm room, though. Outside of the safety of their dorm, he was always closed off and quiet. He was more than willing to talk about classwork out in the school and the common room, but nothing personal.

Draco paused in thought for another long moment before coming to a decision. He nodded to himself. "I'll join you. I suspect that Theo will too, and I know Vincent will, but Blaise might not. Greg won't. Could I invite any of the girls?"

"No. Only you lot," Potter said plainly, and it was obvious to Draco that Potter was only willing to do this with those who had signed his privacy contract. He may not give a 'rat's arse' about the Ministry or the fact that practicing these rituals was considered _illegal, _but he was also cautious enough not to risk the fact that he was doing it get out to them.

"Alright," Draco said and turned to go fetch Theo and Vincent. When they returned to the room Potter had already cleared the central area, and swept it with besom. He had candles set in a circle and was kneeling down and lighting them with his breath alone. Draco glanced over and saw Theo's eyebrows raise into his forehead by a considerable margin, but the blond boy said nothing.

Potter had a small basin of water, which was likely purified, and the small pot of soil at another pole. Another small basin looked to be filled with some of the herbs he'd taken from his potions kit and a moment later Potter was over by it, using one of the candles to set it to a gentle smolder.

"Have you done this before?" Theo asked, sounding both surprised and skeptical.

Draco had to admit he was also impressed. He'd witnessed this ritual every year of his life, but it was always his mother who attended to all the specifics. Draco knew on some level what all was needed, but it had never been something he was personally responsible for, so he didn't honestly know all the steps or specifics involved.

"Yes," Potter replied distantly as he began taking handfuls of salt and letting it out in carefully controlled lines, writing out runes at each of the four poles. He paused after he'd gotten two done and looked over his shoulder. "So it's just the four of us, then?"

"That's right," Draco said, nodding to Vincent and Theo.

"Good. Four's a good number to work with. You've all at least witnessed the ritual before?" They all nodded. "Have any of you ever been a participant? Had to actually speak?"

At this they all fidgeted and shook their heads.

"Okay, do you want to just watch or do you want to be involved? I can do all of the speaking myself if you'd prefer," Potter offered as he went back to writing runes on the ground with the salt.

"I'll, uh, just watch," Vincent mumbled.

"Yeah, me too," Theo added in.

"I'll help," Draco said, taking a step forward.

Potter looked back over his shoulder, piercing Draco with his overly green eyes for a moment before a small smirk spread across his lips and he gave a sharp nod. It almost seemed like a nod of approval, and it caused an irrational burst of pride through Draco's gut.

"Good. I'll be done here in a moment. Grab that book, Draco and see if you can find the section on Samhain. It's about half way through."

Draco walked around the large ritual circle and bent over to fetch the book. Upon opening it, he found that the whole thing was hand-written, and he was fairly sure it was written by _Potter himself_, if the familiar handwriting was anything to go by. Entire sections of it, however, were completely unintelligible to him. It appeared to be written in some sort of squiggly language that he'd never even seen before.

"What's this weird writing in here," he asked after a few moments of flipping through the book.

"Parselscript." Potter replied simply as he shifted to the south pole and continued writing in salt.

"Parselscript?" Draco echoed in surprise.

Potter still didn't talk much about his rare and unique ability so speak with snakes. At most he had confirmed that, yes, he was speaking parseltongue to his little pet snake, and didn't seem bothered to give any further details. Some time later, he had also told Draco that the snake was named Jörmungadr, and that he called him Jörmy for short – sounding like it started with a _Y_ rather than a J sound – which Draco had honestly found rather surprising. Draco knew enough about magical history to know where the name came from. It was the name for the World Serpent, or Midgard Serpent, from old Norse legend. It was the snake that was supposed to devour the world after Ragnarok – the Norse Armageddon.

It was quite a daunting name really – especially for such a very tiny snake. The thing was barely thicker than a pencil, and only just a bit over a foot in length. Hardly as intimidating as it's name would suggest.

"Parseltongue has a written language?" Draco asked, honestly interested. "How'd you learn it?"

Potter just shrugged and grunted as he continued to write runes in salt.

Draco nearly sighed with frustration at the realization that he would, once again, be denied sating his curiosity. It was really quite bothersome how tightlipped Potter often was.

A few minutes later and Potter was done preparing the ritual circle and had the athame and his wand set in their proper places at his sides while he knelt in the center. The apples, incense, and foliage were within reach to be added to the small cauldron with smoldering charcoal inside it, for offering. Theo and Vincent were sitting cross-legged just out side of the circle at the eastern and western points while Draco came and knelt at the southern pole, opposite Potter. Potter had gone over with Draco what he would need to say as an active participant. It wasn't that far off from the ritual that his family had performed on this day for years, so it wasn't that hard for Draco to feel prepared. Potter was the one doing most of the talking too, which helped.

Potter scattered incense on the charcoal into the cauldron and once he was satisfied it was burning he spoke, loudly and with the smooth familiarity of someone who had done this numerous times before.

"Dread Lord of Shadows, God of Life, and the Giver of Life. Yet is the knowledge of thee, the knowledge of Death. Open wide, I pray thee, the gates through which all must pass. Let my dear ones who have gone before return this night to make merry with me. And when my time comes, as it must, o thou the comforter, the consoler, the giver of peace and rest, I ask that you please allow me to finally enter thy realms, and I will come gladly and unafraid; for I know that when rested and refreshed among my dear ones, I will be reborn again by thy grace, and the grace of the great mother. Let it be in the same place and at the same time as my beloved ones, and may I meet, and know, and remember, and love them again."

Potter stood and faced west. "The west is the land of the dead, to which many of my loved ones have gone for rest and renewal. On this night, I hold communion with them; as I hold the image of these loved ones in my heart and mind, I send welcome to those who have crossed over."

Then he walked slowly and with dignity anti-clockwise around the circle, spiraling slowly inwards, until he stood before Draco and gave a small nod.

"Beloved ones," Draco said, his voice shaking a bit at first before he gained control of himself, "Truly, you are welcome in this circle. Remain in Peace, and grace us with your presence."

Potter nodded, and then returned to kneeling in his previous position before the cauldron. He picked up the athame, dipped it into the water to purify it, then handed it to Draco so he could dip it into the small pot of soil behind him. He handed it back to Harry who dipped it into the burning basin to his side before using it to skewer one of the apples and hold it over the burning charcoal in the fire.

"I call upon those who have gathered with me to participate in this ritual today to name someone whom they loved and lost," Potter said before bowing his head.

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. He'd never done this before, but he'd witnessed both of his parents do it. The problem had mostly been that he hadn't really had anyone that he'd known who had died – not until this last summer, actually.

"I call upon thee, Abraxas Brutus Malfoy. Father of my father. I wish you well and peace, and ask that you grant me with visions this night of power," Draco said before bowing his head.

Potter raised his head and took a deep breath. "I call upon thee, James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Evans Potter. Father and Mother to my own person. Lost on this night, many years ago. I wish you well and peace. I ask that you watch over me and do not judge. Do not despair for this is the path for which I have chosen. Please grant me with visions on this night of power." Potter's voice rang out in the eerie silence of the room and Draco felt his heart pounding so fiercely I his chest, he was nearly convinced that the others could hear it was well.

Potter bowed his head and let the apple fall into the cauldron completely and withdrew the athame, setting it down beside his wand.

"Now we wait," Potter whispered and they all bowed their heads in silence.

–

Draco woke some time later with a jerk. His knees and his bum were terribly sore from having sat in that ungodly position for who knew how long. He blinked owlishly to find that Theo and Vincent had apparently left – how long ago, he did not know. He couldn't blame them. He never stayed around until his father's visions were done. He normally only remained until the magic in the air became so thick that he feared he might pass out and then quietly vacated the ritual room. Some people would sit and meditate for hours during this ritual, thinking about those they had lost, while those who had participated endured their visions. Draco, however, hadn't lost anyone. Not until his grandfather had died this last summer.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. The vision had not been what he might have expected. Nothing as explicit as speaking with a vision of his recently deceased grandfather. Rather more like a series of sensations and ideas barely grasped before they had slipped through his fingers. Just beyond his reach. He felt both invigorated and highly unsettled. Mostly, however, he felt mildly frustrated. It was as if some part of him had, for some time, felt connected and at one with life and death in a way he'd never truly comprehended before. It was as if he had _understood_ – and part of him had felt oddly at peace. He was unafraid.

But now that understanding was gone, and the path he had taken to grasping it before was obscured from his vision. It had been a wonderful experience, but also a very sad one. He wasn't yet sure how he felt about the whole thing.

He looked around the dim room – the candles were still burning, but they were nearly gone now – burned down as far as they were. Potter was still sitting cross legged across from him with his head bowed low. His face was peaceful and Draco was struck with the sudden realization that before this moment, Potter almost always looked as if he were weighed down by some invisible veil of misery.

He wondered what Potter was seeing. He could still feel the magic in the air. It was thick and cold.

Was Potter communing with his dead parents? And what of what Potter had said earlier? _Do not despair for this is the path I have chosen._

So many questions. So much burning curiosity.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Draco stiffly pushed himself up into a standing position and made for the door. It was probably getting pretty late. No doubt Blaise and the others wanted to go to bed soon, and he wondered how much longer Potter would be in his trance. Draco _then_ wondered if there had been any word on that troll.

As his stomach rumbled slightly, Draco remembered how the feast had been interrupted and that Draco had skipped out on the promised 'feast in the common room' so that he could instead perform the Samhain sabbath ritual with Potter. He wondered if any of the sweets might have remained, or if they'd already been devoured by the others. Maybe he could slip out to the kitchens and bully that house elf into giving him some left overs.

– –

Two boys stood huddled in a dark hallway in an isolated passage in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Each thirteen years old, red-haired, freckled, and identical in practically every way. The two of them were huddled together so tightly to obscure the piece of old parchment that they held in front of them and examined closely.

"There it is again!" one gasped, pointing at the parchment suddenly. "See, I told you I saw it down this way."

The other hummed, looking at the strange set of unnamed footprints that was presently walking through the corridors, not terribly far from their current location.

"I've never seen a set of footprints without a name before," he murmured.

"It's even weirder than Professor Quirrell's name, where it looks like there's a second name written over top of it," the first commented.

"Oh shite! It's coming this way!"

"Well, maybe now we'll finally figure out who it is?"

"I don't know... something about this rubs me the wrong way. I don't like it."

"Hush. It's coming."

The pair waited until the last minute before folding shut the parchment and whispering out the cancel phrase _"Mischief Managed"_ to deactivate it's complex magic. They leaned around a corner and looked down the long, dark, _empty_ corridor, where the map had indicated the unnamed person should be coming from.

"There's no one there," the first whispered.

"Hush!"

Silence filled the air for a long, endless moment. A shimmer of light seemed to shift in the air for a moment – perhaps a sign of someone disillusioned?

Suddenly a red light shot from the air, followed instantly by another, and the two identical twins fell to the ground unconscious.

When they would next awake, they would find their enchanted parchment missing, and never see it again.

– –

Albus Dumbledore fell heavily into the chair behind his desk and heaved a heavy sigh. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders at this moment, like so many others. Before him, on his desk, sat a simple wrapped box that he was still unsure of whether or not he should send.

Tomorrow was Christmas. He could scarcely believe that time had flown so quickly; but it always seemed to do that these days. The last ten years of simple peace seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye. Most of that time had been filled with worry over the fact of one Harry Potter, and now that he had the boy under his protection, he felt little reprieve from his concerns.

In fact, if anything, he was _more_ worried. The boy was most certainly not what he had hoped for. His sorting into Slytherin was unfortunate, but there had still been a chance, even from that rough start, for things to be molded in the proper direction. However, it was blatantly clear that _that_ wasn't going to be happening.

The boy was cold and standoffish. He was clearly very intelligent – _too_ intelligent for his age. No matter if you labeled him a prodigy, he shouldn't be as good as he was. Even Tom Riddle had not been _this_ good when he was a mere eleven years old. It took Tom several years to come into his own and truly begin showing just how exceptional he was. And how exceptionally dangerous.

Albus would be worried that perhaps Lord Voldemort were acting through young Harry Potter if it were not for how distinctly different they were. Harry Potter worried him, but he did not remind him of Tom Riddle. However, he was not sure if that was a relief or not. At least if the bit of Voldemort that was left behind in the boy's scar, were what was effecting his behavior, it would be an explanation that made sense. As it were, Albus felt as if he were at a complete loss to explain the situation.

The box sitting on the table before him now housed a very powerful artifact – one that rightfully belonged to the boy. It had been his fathers, and Albus had only been borrowing it when poor James and Lily died that night, many years ago. He _knew_ that he should return it. It was not his to own, and to keep it in his possession was a temptation. He was a man of principle, but he also knew that he was a man that could succumb to temptation and offers of power. It was one thing that he always feared to allow himself to touch.

He was not the master of this cloak – at least not by magical inheritance. It belonged to Harry, and to Harry, it should be returned. Albus was already master of _one_ Hallow, and he knew in his heart, that he should not keep a second. One man in possession of two out of the three Hallows – it really only reminded him of the one he still lacked, and brought about temptation to search for it. To master all three – to master _death_.

No. He shouldn't keep it. It belonged to Harry Potter and it should be returned to him. But Albus feared...

He feared what this cold-hearted, closed-off, boy would do with such a powerful thing.

Was he doing the boy more harm than good by returning it to him?

He hoped that it might inspire a sense of adventure in the boy – send him exploring the old castle a bit. More than anything, he was hoping he might lure the child to the room where he was presently storing the Mirror of Erised that he had only just dug out of storage. He had the most brilliant idea of how to use the mirror in protecting the Stone, but perhaps it could serve one other purpose first.

He wished _deeply_ to know what the boy might see when he looked into the mirror. It might give him some inkling into the boy's mind. Some clue as to who Harry Potter really was.

So it was with some small bit of guilt that he had applied a small compulsion spell to the cloak. It wouldn't last long – a week at the most – seeing as how the cloak was such a powerfully magical artifact in it's own right. Getting additional spells to stick to an object so powerful was tricky, and never permanent. If he could, he'd apply a tracking charm to the thing, but that would dissipate in hours if he bothered to try.

The compulsion would simply nudge the boy in the right direction. Towards the right part of the castle, and then the call of the Mirror itself would draw him in the rest of the way. Assuming, of course, that he put the cloak on and wandered the school at all.

All he could do was hope and wait.

He penned a quick note to go with the package. At first he hadn't intended to sign it, but in the end he decided that no Slytherin would ever accept a gift if they didn't know who it had come from. And Harry Potter was definitely a Slytherin, as much as that thought pained him.

– –

Albus Dumbledore stood under the strongest disillusionment spell he knew, in the corner of the dusty, cluttered old classroom filled with broken chairs, desks, and assorted jumble, and one ancient and powerful mirror, and waited. He did not know yet if Harry Potter had even so much as put the cloak on. It was two nights since Christmas, and there had been no signs to indicate whether or not the boy might come, and yet still he waited and hoped.

It was getting quite late, and he was feeling inclined to give up when the half-open door to the classroom pushed open further, creaking loudly, before shutting again.

Quiet footsteps could be heard, though there was no visible sign of anyone there. Dumbledore could sense the aura of the cloak, however. He had become very familiar with it over the last decade, and the time he had spent studying it. Harry was here.

He stood and waited silently as the boys head suddenly appeared along with a pair of hands as they reached out through the cloak. Harry stood there in the center of the room, looking right at the mirror several feet beyond him, frowning deeply. He remained motionless for longer than seemed reasonable before heaving a sigh and taking several steps forward, putting him directly in front of the mirror.

Albus was not sure, but it almost looked as if the boy were holding his eyes tightly shut. Then he opened them and gazed into the mirror.

A moment later the boy seemed to _snort, _or maybe even scoff. It was quite peculiar, honestly. It was not a reaction that Albus had ever seen anyone _else_ have when standing before the mirror that showed you your deepest and most powerful desire.

The boy shook his head briefly before reaching up and pulling the hood back over his head, sending him back into total invisibility. A moment later the door once again opened and then closed, and Albus was left feeling even more disappointed than ever.

He left a small trigger alarm on the room so that he would be notified immediately, should anyone enter it. He would hope that maybe Harry would come back again, but he rather doubted it.

And as the days passed, Albus finally accepted that he would likely never know what Harry had seen when looking into the mirror and removed it from the room.

Harry never came back.

– –

_Dear Professor Quirrell, and his companion,_

_I thought you might find this information useful._

_First room – Three-headed dog; lulled to sleep by music. Trap door beneath beast._

_Second room – Filled with Devil's Snare. Use fire or artificial sunlight._

_Third room – Charmed keys with wings and a locked door. Only the correct key will unlock it._

_It's old and rusted to match the door handle – all the rest look new._

_Fourth room – Giant transfigured Wizards Chess set. Take the place of the King and play through – if you win, the pieces will let you past without any further fight._

_Fifth room – your troll._

_Sixth room – Logic Puzzle from Snape. A series of potions on a table and a slip of paper with clues to identify which potion allows you past. Some of the vials have poison, if you don't have a lot of faith in your ability to work out the puzzle, bring a bezoar or prepare Lardigner's Fire-Proof potion before hand._

_Seventh room – Final room. Houses Mirror of Erised – (Desire). Mirror shows you your greatest desire. If you greatest desire is to acquire an object, __but not to use it – just obtain it__, you will gain that object. Any other desire, and you will not get what you want._

_Sincerely,_

_Someone who has no Desire to be your enemy_

– –

The second week in February, Professor Quirrell mysteriously disappeared and was not seen again for the remainder of the school year, marking him as one of the earliest departures from the defense post. Rumors spread for the rest of the school year with theories as to what had happened to him, from those insisting that the vampire he encountered in Albania had finally tracked him down and killed him, to those suggesting that he had simply asphyxiated from too much garlic smell.

– –

The year ended with little fanfare. Slytherin won the house cup by a significant margin and Severus hadn't even had to do it by constantly removing house points from Gryffindor. Harry Potter had probably single-handedly guaranteed the win, and somehow Severus did manage to gain a smug sense of satisfaction by that fact. No doubt, James Potter was turning in his grave. The thought brought about a small grin to his features, even if only for the briefest of moments.

As Albus had requested, he had made efforts to reach out to the boy, although he rather doubted it had been all that successful. Potter got a rather knowing sort of look about him whenever Severus had made such efforts, and yet the boy hadn't snubbed him entirely either. Still, he most certainly wouldn't say that they were _close._

He did not despise the boy, as he was so sure he would at the start of the school year. It was a fact that he only reluctantly admitted to. The boy was not a trouble-maker – in fact, he rather doubted the Potter had lost even a single house point all year long – and he was not boastful or offensively arrogant. And he had not once bullied anyone else, so much as Severus or any of the other teachers had ever seen.

He truly was nothing like his father.

But he wasn't anything like Lily either.

Severus was finally willing to admit that Harry Potter was not a carbon copy of either of his parents – which made sense, since he had not been raised by either of them.

Severus had at one point, finally just _asked_ the boy who _had_ raised him, when he was tired of beating around the bush. Potter had replied that he raised himself.

Severus almost suspected the boy was telling the truth.

It was the end of year Feast, and one of the few feasts that Potter apparently felt inclined to attend. He sat there, quietly eating his food while his housemates grinned smugly, preened amongst each other, and looked down, snootily, at the other houses, who all looked rather sullen and annoyed by the green and silver banners decorating the Great Hall.

Severus, for one, was glad to see the end of the school year finally arrive. He was exhausted beyond reason, having substituted for a third of the Defense classes for the last few months. Albus had covered most of the rest, with occasional fill-ins from the other professors when the need arose. Severus was quite pleased with the opportunity to teach his favorite subject, but to teach it at the same time as also teaching seven sections of potions was _not_ his ideal situation.

Not to mention how horrible Albus had been to work with since Quirrell managed to run off with the stone. The man had been miserable beyond words. It was one of the few reasons that Severus had finally caved in and made some legitimate efforts to connect with Potter and learn a bit about him.

Just a few days prior, Severus had called Potter into his office and simply _asked him_ what he was going to be doing for the summer months. Albus had been too afraid to do it himself – convinced as he was that Potter would get angry and not return for his second year – and Potter had told him that he would be renting a one-bedroom flat in London, with a simple shrug.

Severus was a bit bewildered and stunned by the answer, but he also suspected it was an _honest answer_. When he'd asked Potter to elaborate on how exactly he'd be doing this, Potter said he'd brewed himself more than enough aging potion to last him the summer, and he'd be able to rent himself a flat without any trouble.

He'd been doing it for years, so he knew it wouldn't be a problem.

Severus was rather baffled by this.

Albus hadn't taken it very well either. He was still convinced that the boy had to be being looked after by _someone_.

Severus wondered, however, if it might actually be possible that the person who had been going into Gringott's all these years, in disguise, and with _Potter blood_, could possibly have actually been Harry Potter himself?

Surely... surely that wasn't possible though?

The visits to the boy's vault had been happening since he was three years old, and _that_ was just ludicrous. No, the boy _had_ to have had _someone_ looking after him, in the beginning, at least.

Even if he was now honestly on his own.

Severus had asked Potter if he was aware of the punishment if he was caught performing magic outside of school and the boy had gave a rather bitter laugh in response and told his professor that he was quite prepared to go without his wand for the next two months. And brewing potions didn't require a wand.

And so Severus had reluctantly bid the boy goodbye after asking that he at least write to check in every week so that Severus would know he was still safe. He had done this last bit with awkward reluctance, and the boy had the gall to look _amused_ during the whole thing before promising that he would write.

Albus was _still_ not pleased.

Severus had advised him _not_ to try and have the boy watched, and Albus had reluctantly agreed. The vanishing act the boy had pulled the previous August had simply been too good, and he knew it had scared the old man.

Still... Severus rather doubted that Albus could possibly leave well enough alone. The man was just _incapable_ of minding his own business.

– –

Draco Malfoy _knew_ his father was _up to something_, but he also knew better than to actually say anything, or dare to ask questions, as to what exactly that something might be. His father had been putting off their summer trip to Diagon Alley for his school supplies for several days now, and all of a sudden, he insisted that they _had_ to go today.

They had made a brief trip down Knockturn and paid Borgin and Burkes a visit. Draco had eyed a Hand of Glory while there, and he desperately_ wanted it_, but his father had refused, much to his chagrin.

His father seemed rather edgy, and given that horribly rude visit they'd gotten from those two Ministry workers earlier that week, Draco couldn'y blame him. He appeared to be bullying Borgin into taking some objects off his hands, but Draco wasn't really paying attention.

Finally they had left and gone to Florish and Blotts. They found the place utterly _packed_ with people – most notably, a large group of offensively poor gingers. Draco had wasted little time in insulting Ron Weasley, because it was just _so easy_. It turned out that some idiot author was doing a book signing there that day, and his entire book collection was on their required book list for the year. They were also rather expensive books, and Weasley was especially easy to rile up when it came to his family's near-pauper standing in the world.

Even more shocking, however, was when his father got into a _fight_ with Weasley's father. In the middle of the store! It was honestly stunning, but also surprisingly funny. At least, it was until Weasley Sr. resorted to physical violence. The man actually had the gall to try to _punch _his father! The beast!

Sometime during the scuffle, the Weasley's only daughter's books apparently got knocked out of her hands, and when it was all said and done, his father had bent down to collect the books and tossed them back into the girls cauldron, while sneering at Weasley Sr. the whole while. He called to Draco to come along and he quickly turned to send one last sneer of his own in Weasley-the-youngest's direction. At that moment, he was thrown off his guard as Harry seemed to appear out of no where. He bumped into the Weasley girl and she yelped in shock, dropping her cauldron to the floor and spilling her books everywhere, once again.

Harry made a show of apologizing and picking the books up for her. Ron Weasley rushed to his sister's rescue like some idiotic bird – all puffed up chest and indignation – and told Potter to bugger off. Harry had given him a disinterested shrug and disappeared back into the crowd a moment later.

Hearing his name called out yet again by his father, Draco turned and rushed from the store where his father was standing out front, waiting impatiently, and clearly eager to leave.

– –

_'I saw you in Diagon Alley today.'_

Draco wrote in the small lined notebook that Harry had given him at the end of their last school year when Harry had informed him that he wouldn't be able to receive normal post since he wasn't going to be giving out his address and would be under anti-owl wards.

He could never know for sure how long it would be until Harry saw his messages and wrote back. Sometimes it was only an hour or so, but there had been other times when it had taken days before Harry even realized he had a message waiting for him.

This was, fortunately, not one of the later times, for mere minutes later writing began appearing on the page in Harry's tight, looping scrawl.

_'Oh really? I wondered if you saw me.'_ Harry wrote back.

_'I wanted to say hello, but father was in a rush to leave.'_

_'I'm not surprised.'_

_'I thought you didn't bother with Diagon Alley?'_

_'I still go at least once or twice a year. Did you see the pompous arse signing books?'_

_'Vaguely.'_

_'He'll be our Defense Professor this year. He's a total fraud. This year's DADA class is going to be a complete waste of time.'_

_'That's shite,'_ Draco wrote back, frowning. DADA had actually turned out pretty brilliant the later half of the previous school year, after Severus had taken over for the MIA Quirrell.

_'Yes it is. Hey, Draco, I've gotta go but can you do me a favor?'_

_'Maybe.'_

_'Order your house elf, Dobby, to leave me alone. He's a real nutter.'_

Draco blinked at the page, feeling confused beyond words by the request.

_'Dobby? How do you know him? Why would he be visiting you at all?'_

_'You father's 'up to something', and a 'very bad wizard', according to Dobby, and he's trying to protect me from certain doom. I'm perfectly capable of keeping myself safe, thank-you-very-much. If anything, the little lunatic is liable to get me killed if he keeps trying to 'protect me'._

Draco was still feeling beyond confused, and no small amount of anger, over what was written on the page. _'I'll attend to that right away. Thank you for letting me know.'_ he wrote curtly, feeling his anger welling up.

_'Thanks. Gotta go. I'll be busy for a week or so, so I'm not sure if I'll be available to write again for a while. Bye.'_

_'Bye.' _ Draco wrote back before slowly closing the book. He sat in silence with his eyes closed and breathing slowly for several moments before opening his hard, glaring eyes.

"DOBBY!"

– –


	3. Chapter 3

– –

_The justice of the cause is conspicuous; for that war is just which is necessary, and those arms are sacred from which we derive our only hope._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Severus Snape apparated into an out of the way alley not far from the West Norwood Rail Station and began a brisk trek down Norwood Road before turning off on Dunbar Street. He pulled a small slip of parchment out of his pocket and checked the address one last time before turning down a small cul-du-sac and finding a circle of nearly identical 2-story tan-bricked buildings with dark brown roofs.

Finding the one labeled #27, he walked up the small path and knocked on the dark brown painted door. He glanced around, wondering if any of Albus' lackeys were attempting a watch today. He suspected that if any had, they'd probably already been chased off. Potter hadn't packed up and _left_ yet, but he had repeatedly tossed out the various 'guards' that Dumbledore had tried to station, in secret, near the boy's summer flat.

No matter what magic they used to conceal themselves – from disillusionment spells, invisibility cloaks, Polyjuice and glamours – it didn't matter. Potter always came out, walked right up to them and demanded that they leave. He'd even called the muggle police on a few of them, which Severus would secretly admit he found rather amusing.

According to Kingsley, the one time that he'd been roped into doing an attempt at watching over Potter's flat, the boy had come out, walked right up to where he was standing under a _very_ strong disillusionment spell, and somehow managed to _wandlessly_ _finite_ the spell, making him visible again. The boy's only response to the sputtering auror's demands to know how the boy had done it, was to say that Finite was an easy spell and to then explain that so long as he was standing next to an adult wizard, the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect or accuse him of having used magic – and since he had not used a wand, there would be no proof at all. That obviously wasn't what Kingsley had _asked_ him to explain but it was all the boy had said.

And now Severus found himself standing at the boy's front door, wondering how he would be greeted. With respect? Or as another nuisance?

The door opened suddenly and there stood Harry Potter, clad entirely in muggle clothes – a pair of washed out blue jeans and a white t-shirt with some sort of faded gray design on it that Severus didn't care to pay any attention to. The boy was barefoot, his hair was even messier than usual, and he was not wearing his glasses.

"Sir," Potter said with a curt nod of his head before taking a step back and motioning Severus into the small entry hall. It was a cramped little space, honestly. Directly to his left appeared to be a closet; directly to his right, a door to the loo, and right in front of him an open arch leading into the reception room. Severus followed Potter inside and took stock of the room. Two doors were visible from here – one, open, leading to a kitchen and the other closed, most likely going to a bedroom. Just a small, simple, 1-bedroom flat. Modest, if not a bit run-down, but he supposed Potter was being economical, and he only had to live in the place for two months.

The furniture was a mis-match of things that looked like they'd come from a second-hand store. Nothing really went together, nor was anything new, but it did look clean and it looked comfortable.

"Tea, sir?" Potter asked, already walking towards the door that lead to the kitchen.

"Yes, please," Severus responded as he walked over and sat down in one of the armchairs. He absently rubbed at his left forearm and frowned as he looked around the room and waited. It was less than a minute later when Potter reappeared with a tray and two cups of tea.

When Severus accepted the cup offered to him he was surprised to find the tea prepared just the way he liked it, despite never having had tea with Potter before and he sent a suspicious glare at the boy, who just smirked slightly from behind his own cup.

"So what brings you here, sir? Surely Dumbledore hasn't roped you into trying to _guard_ me?" Potter asked a few moments later.

"I have come because... I am concerned," Severus bit out in a slow, reluctant drawl while keeping his eyes firmly locked on a spot on the wall.

Potter slowly raised a single eyebrow. "Concerned?"

"You have clearly figured out that Albus has more than simple motives for his intense desire to _protect _and _keep track_ of you. I will admit that I am not sure exactly – _how much_ you know... but I suspect it is more than seems reasonable," he sneered, piercing Potter with a suspicious and scrutinizing glare.

The corner of Potter's mouth turned up even further, although most of his smirk was still masked behind his teacup. Slowly he set it down on the small tea table. "You mean, how he wants to make sure I'm alive and well and in the right mindset to fulfill the prophecy when the time comes?"

One of Severus' eyes twitched, violently, but he managed to restrain any other reactions from being visible on his features.

He closed his eyes and slowly set his own cup down. "So you do know about it."

"Of course."

"Are you also aware that the Dark Lord is not nearly as _dead_ as the rest of the world seems to be content to believe?"

"Of course," Potter said again with a bored sigh as he sat back further in his own armchair.

Severus again paused to shoot a long, speculative look at the boy sitting opposite him.

"We have – _reasons_ to believe that He is back – or at least, attempting to make a return. You would be in great danger if He, or any of his servants, were to find you here. You would be defenseless without the use of your magic to defend yourself, and even with it, you are but one boy and anyone who would come for you would likely come in numbers."

"I would be fine," Potter said, again sounding rather bored, if not put upon for having to even deal with this conversation.

"You would not be _fine_, you stupid boy," Severus snapped, feeling his temper flare.

Potter snorted and smirked over at the man as if his outburst simply amused him.

"I would be fine," he repeated more firmly.

Snape glowered across the space at the arrogant, defiant child he was faced with. He wasn't sure what he hated more about this whole situation. The fact that Potter was so idiotically refusing their offer to help keep him safe, or the fact that he himself was legitimately worried about the boy. He had grown annoyingly _fond_ of him – which peeved him to no end.

"I am not comfortable leaving you to your own devices, so unprotected, for so long," Snape bit out through a tightly clenched jaw.

"I have less than a month left before going back to Hogwarts," Potter said with a sigh.

"And a lot of things could go _wrong_ in that time," Severus growled.

Potter paused, tilted his head to the side and eyed Severus speculatively for a moment before a wide grin spread across his face. "Why... Professor – are you truly _worried_ about little ol' me?" he asked sweetly and even batted his eyelashes. It was all Severus could do to refrain from hexing the brat.

"You are in legitimate _danger_, you arrogant, stupid little boy.

Potter _snorted_. "I'm hardly a _little_ boy," he muttered and almost sounded _bitter _by the fact.

"You _are_ a boy. You are just barely turned twelve years old, and there is a murderous madman, bent on your destruction, newly resurrected, and _out there somewhere_."

"Are you so sure that he's resurected? Has he called you to him yet?" Potter asked so simply, you would think he was asking about the weather.

Severus came up short and sat up straighter in his chair. "What?"

"As he summoned you yet? Or is all this fuss just because you're mark is getting darker and starting to itch and burn?"

"How would you possibly know about that?" Severus whispered hoarsely.

"I know a lot of things, Professor Snape."

"You should not know that."

"I shouldn't know about the Prophecy, either, but I do."

"How _do_ you know about the Prophecy?"

Potter just smirked at him for a moment before reaching down and picking up his tea cup again to take another sip.

"You didn't answer my question," Potter said, instead. "Have the Death Eaters been summoned yet?"

"_You_ didn't answer mine," Severus bit out spitefully.

"If he is not powerful enough to feel comfortable calling his inner circle before him, then he is not powerful enough to try coming after me. He wouldn't risk it. Getting a body back and rebuilding some of his power base and support structure is far more important a goal than seeking revenge and killing me. If it weren't, he would have tried to kill me while he was possessing my Defense Professor, all of first term last year."

Severus' eyes went wide and he blanched. "You knew about Quirrell?"

"Of course. You're not the only one bearing a mark from the man," Potter said and reached up to tap at his forehead. "Honestly, I'm surprised that being so near him didn't cause some reaction in your Dark Mark, but I suppose he was dormant most of the time, simply riding on the back of Quirrell's head like a parasite."

Severus sucked in a breath at the suggestion that Potter's scar _marked_ him from the Dark Lord. That it could somehow act as a conduit through which Potter could somehow have _known_ that the Dark Lord was near by. He would admit that his Dark Mark _had_ acted up, a few times, over the previous year, but the occurrences were mild and sporadic at best and he had dismissed them.

"Did you know Quirrell was carrying around the Dark Lord even last year while he was there?" Snape asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why the hell didn't you _say something then! You stupid, blasted boy!_ You could have been in _danger!_ He had extensive access to you the whole time he was there! And if you had warned us, we could have done something about him! We could have prevented him from –"

He stopped and closed his eyes, trying to calm down his raging fury.

_Would have, could have, should have..._

"I didn't want to," Potter said simply after a few moments of silence. Severus opened his eyes and slowly looked up at the boy, incredulously.

"Didn't – _want – _to?"

"No."

"You idiotic boy!"

"I do wish you would stop calling me that."

"I will call you what you are!"

"You really have no idea what's really going on here," Potter said in a bored tone.

"Of course I don't! You won't _tell me!"_ Severus raged.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do!" he bellowed.

Potter sat motionless and staring at Severus with his piercing green emeralds for an unsettlingly long time. Finally, when Severus was about to crack and say something scathing, Potter opened his mouth.

"Do you know why I didn't die that night? When Voldemort shot the killing curse at me?"

Severus nearly blanched at the unexpected question but slowly shook his head in the negative. Sure, Dumbledore had given him a few flimsy explanations about Lily's _love_, but it all seemed rather ridiculous to Severus.

Potter gave him a small crooked grin. "It's because of you."

"Me?" Severus echoed incredulously.

"Yes. You. You're the reason that I'm still alive today. It is also the only reason I'm even willing to consider telling you the truth."

"How could _I_ possibly be the reason you live today?" Severus asked with a mixture of disbelief and denial. If anything, it was his fault that Lily was dead and Harry had no parents. If only he hadn't told the Dark Lord about that Prophecy...

Potter stood up suddenly and Severus watched as the boy went over to a small writing desk against one wall, surrounded by bookshelves and piles of books on the floor and various end tables. He dug around in a drawer for a moment before pulling out a sheet of parchment and grabbing a muggle-looking biro pen. He returned to his previous seating arrangement and handed the parchment and pen to Severus who took them reluctantly before glancing down at it.

"A secrecy contract?"

"Yes."

Severus looked up at Potter through narrowed eyes. "Like the one you had your dorm mates sign at the start of last year?"

"Not quite. This one is a bit more straightforward. It's also more severe," he added with a serious tone. "This one states that you cannot repeat or relay in any way, any piece of information I have expressed to you, with the intent of confidence, to anyone I have not given you express permission to do so. Once having signed the contract, should you ever begin to rub up against the edge of breaking it, you will experience an unpleasant prickling all along your skin as a warning. If you continue with the intent to betray my confidences, it will become more painful, and if you flat out try to tell something of significant importance, you will instantly begin to asphyxiate until the time that you _stop_ trying to speak and betray my confidence, or the point where you die; whichever comes first. The contract signed with my dorm mates has no such extreme consequences, but I have made it a point to not reveal anything to them that I deem extremely sensitive."

"But if I sign this, you will reveal _extremely sensitive_ information to _me_?" Severus asked with an arched brow.

"Yes. Feel free to read it first. I would expect nothing less."

Severus narrowed his eyes and paused for only a moment before turning his full focus on the magically binding legal document and reading it thoroughly. It took several minutes to read and re-read it enough times that he was sure he understood all the fine details. It was clearly a professionally drafted magical contract, so it would also be legally recognized without any option for argument.

His curiosity was burning deep inside him to know the truth about Potter, but at the same time he was also quite hesitant. This was certainly not something to take lightly...

"More than anything, I suspect that Albus deeply wants to know that _someone_ that he trusts, knows what is going on with me, and is in a position to take an active role in looking after me," Potter began to speak lazily after several minutes of silence. Severus looked up at him through narrowed eyes, but remained silent. "Sure, he would be annoyed that you were being prevented from telling _him_ the secrets you would now know, but I think it would also ease some of his concerns knowing that at least _someone_ knows something. Especially someone that he trusts."

"Trying to convince me?" Severus drawled, cocking one sharp brow.

Potter chuckled and shrugged. "I'm not really sure, honestly. Perhaps part of me does _want_ to tell you. Part of me feels like I owe it to you."

"You hardly owe me anything," Severus muttered and looked away.

"Well, you don't owe me anything either. And yet you still have managed to find it within yourself to be _concerned_ about me."

"You are a member of my house. I look out for my students," Severus said, sitting a bit straighter.

Potter chuckled quietly. "We both know that you wouldn't be going to quite this much effort or concern over just _any_ student in Slytherin House. Are you doing this because I'm Lily's son? Because of your Vow to Dumbledore? Or because of the Life Debt you owed to my father?"

Severus sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "How could you possibly know of any of that?" he whispered harshly.

"Because if it has anything to do with my father's life debt, I officially release you from it," Potter went on blandly, totally ignoring Severus' question.

A light flashed around the two of them and Severus gasped as he felt a flash of magic and a sudden lightening of his shoulders.

"What have you done?" Severus exclaimed.

"I released you from the debt," Potter said with a nonchalant shrug before taking a sip of his tea and then making a face at it, most likely because it had gone cold. "We both know that my father didn't save you that day out of a desire to protect _you_, or out of any sense of remorse or a sense of _right or wrong_. He only did it to protect Lupin. It may be true that if he hadn't intervened you would have either ended up dead, or infected, but I don't think that's enough for you to owe him a Life Debt. His actions were more selfish, or at the very least, out of a desire to protect his friend – _not you_. Nothing noble about it. And it was _your_ debt to _him_. Not _me_. I don't believe in inheriting Life Debts."

"How do you even _know_ about the Life Debt!" Severus demanded. "How do you even know about that day? Who told you? Was it Lupin? It couldn't have been Black, he's in bloody Azkaban!"

Potter chuckled and shook his head. "If you want your questions answered, you'd have to sign the contract.

"You manipulative little bastard," Severus hissed and Potter just smirked back at him.

"Surely you've accepted by now that the Hat knew what it was doing when it sorted me into Slytherin."

Severus snorted and looked away, scowling.

"I'll offer you one bit of free information," Potter started a few moments later. "Free from the contract, so you could even repeat it to Dumbledore, or whoever else you wanted. Interested?"

"Of course," Severus snapped in annoyance.

"Okay, then I have a story to share. The story starts in the winter of 1980 in a dingy pub in Hogsmeade where a young Severus Snape watched Albus Dumbledore and a strange, eccentric-looking witch enter the pub and then go up the stairs to a private room. Taking his new duties as the Dark Lord's spy seriously, young Severus Snape stealthily followed them up the stairs and eavesdropped at the door. It turned out it was little more than a job interview for the Divination post, but at one point it actually became interesting when the eccentric witch's voice shifted low and she began to speak a _prophecy_.

"Unfortunately, young Severus Snape only heard the first three lines before the pub's owner caught him eavesdropping and tossed him out. But those three lines were enough, and the young Death Eater ran off to his Lord to report what he had heard. It was more than half a year later before the young Death Eater heard anything else about the Prophecy, for that is how long it took before the prophesied child was born and anyone could truly be sure whether or not they fit the mentioned specifications."

Severus sat in dumbstruck silence, hating every passing word and wishing desperately that he could tell the boy to stop speaking, but not finding the strength to do it.

"When young Severus Snape first learned that his Lord had identified his childhood friend and one true love, Lily Evans – now Potter – as the woman who had birthed the child of prophecy, young Severus was distraught, for he knew that the prophecy had sealed her fate. The Dark Lord would kill her and her child, and he was sure there was nothing that could be done to stop him.

"And so the young Death Eater went to his Lord and begged him to spare the girl; feeling utterly sure that it was a hopeless cause. After all, she was a mudblood, and a member of Dumbledore's Order, and the Dark Lord would surely not allow her to live.

"But much to young Snape's surprise, the Dark Lord agreed. He told his servant that he was very pleased with Severus for having brought him the Prophecy and would give him this one boon. His reward for having been such a good and loyal follower. But this was the moment when the Dark Lord sealed his fate. For you see, his own belief that the Prophecy was so monumentally important, and his belief that your bringing it too him was a monumental occurrence – a _fated_ occurrence – put power behind his agreement that he did not intend. That, combined with your own terribly powerful wish for Lily to be spared bound the two of you in a naturally spawned Unbreakable Vow. Just as powerful – just as binding – and just as _deadly_ – only without the bothersome ritual or flashy lights.

"But in that moment, the Dark Lord was truly grateful and appreciative of what young Severus Snape had brought him, and did, in all honestly, intend to honor his promise."

Potter paused and allowed Snape a moment to breath and process before resuming his 'story'.

"It took nearly a year before the Potters gave up running from one safe-house to the next and settle down in Godric's Hallow. Raising a child while on the run was exhausting and beyond bothersome. They had grown weary of it and had wished to simply find a way to remain in one spot and be _safe_. So Dumbledore had suggested a spell called the Fedelius, which would protect their location in the heart of someone they trusted – a _Secret Keeper_. It seemed perfect, except that there was one rather monumental mistake that they made. They trusted the wrong person.

"They made Peter Pettigrew their secret keeper because he seemed the least likely person for the job. Sirius Black was the one everyone _expected_, and he set himself up as a nice decoy, letting everyone believe that he was the one guarding the secret to the Potters safety. –"

"What –? But you're wrong. Black _was_ the secret keeper," Severus interrupted, frowning in confusion. "He killed Pettigrew –"

"No. _You're_ wrong. The only reason that Black went after Pettigrew was for revenge. Black was the only one who knew that Peter had been the one to betray my parents, and Sirius was utterly devastated and _crushed_ by the loss of my parents, when _he_ had been the one to insist they switch to Peter. You see – Peter had been a marked Death Eater and secret spy for nearly a year by the time my parents entrusted him with the secret of their home in Godric's Hollow. He had wasted little time in going to Voldemort and revealing the secret, and then the Dark Lord had laid in wait for three weeks until All Hallow's Eve, when he went to our home and attacked.

"Black had been the only one who knew the truth about who the real secret keeper was and he had gone after Pettigrew for revenge. But Pettigrew set Sirius up. He accused Sirius of having betrayed my parents in a crowded street to lay the blame, then cast a bombarda at a gas main, killing the muggles and faking his death. Then he transformed into his unregistered animagus form – a rat – and escaped through the sewers, leaving Sirius in a state of guilt-ridden despair, where he was found by the Aurors minutes later."

"Black's innocent?" Severus whispered in disbelief.

"He is. He never got a trial – or was ever really questioned, for that matter. But right after Voldemort's death, there was a state of martial law declared, and it was easy for people to shove the details of his arrest under the rug for the sake of _swift justice_. But we've diverged from the main path of our story. What's important next is what happened after Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hallow."

Severus flinched and grimaced at the use of the Dark Lord's name, but didn't say anything else to interrupt.

"The Potters were utterly unprepared – they assumed that they were completely safe and protected. Voldemort arrived and Lily took baby Harry and raced up the stairs while James turned to race for his wand. He was not fast enough, however, and he was quickly felled by the Dark Lord's wand.

"Said wizard then leisurely climbed the stairs to find Lily Potter standing in the nursery, also wandless, and blocking the crib where she had placed young Harry. The Dark Lord told her to stand aside. He told her that she did not need to die. Three times he told her to stand aside and again and again she refused, all the while begging that he take her, but spare her son. _Take me, not my Harry. Please, just take me._

"And the Dark Lord finally raised his wand and aimed it at her chest and said _'Very well'_, and in that moment, the natural magic of the vow recognized a shift in the terms of the agreement. In place of having to spare Lily Potter's life, the Dark Lord was now required by the agreement that he had made, to spare her son's life instead. So when he turned his wand on young Harry Potter in the crib and shot loose the killing curse, he damned himself to a decade of suffering. Under any normal circumstance, he simply would have died – felled for his own defiance of the unbreakable vow he made – but the Dark Lord had too many safeguards in place to die so easily. So instead Magic destroyed his body, leaving him little more than a formless wraith.

"And that, dear Professor, is how _you_ are responsible for my being alive here today."

Severus sat there, dumbstruck and gaping like some sort of idiotic dying fish. It was utterly unbelievable, and yet it was also the most logical and reasonable explanation he had ever heard. In fact it was the _only_ reasonable explanation he'd ever heard.

Potter had given him permission to repeat this story to whomever Severus might want, but at this moment he was almost positive that he would never tell a soul, till the day he died. He most certainly wouldn't want the _Dark Lord_ to ever know. That was for sure.

The man would likely kill Severus without even the slightest hesitation. The mere insinuation that Severus had any blame in what had transpired would be enough to warrant a death sentence – of that, Severus was sure.

He wasn't sure how Albus would react to such a story, but he couldn't quite find it within himself to want to share the story with Albus either. What did it really matter, anyway? It was the past, and hardly meant anything anymore.

Severus found himself closing his mouth and some small part of him hated the fact that his mouth had been open that long at all. He swallowed the horrified lump in his throat, closed his eyes, and took in several long, slow breaths, to try and calm his racing heart.

"How... how could you _possibly_ know all that?" he whispered hoarsely.

Potter merely leaned forward, reached across the tea table and tapped his finger on the contract, while giving him a _look_.

Severus nearly growled in frustration before reaching forward, grabbing the pen, and signing the damn parchment.

"There, are you happy now?" Severus bit out angrily.

Potter merely grinned widely, shifted forward in his seat, grabbed the pen, and signed his own name on the parchment. It glowed briefly before the two of them each glowed with a gentle yellow light. The light then shot back into the parchment that proceeded to disappear with a flash.

"A copy of the contract will be filed with the Ministry and kept on file with Dodge E. and Dodge E. R. solicitors at law firm," Potter stated, all business, as he sat back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Severus scowled darkly. "Answer my question," he bit out.

Potter nodded a few times slowly before sighing. "Yes, I suppose I will. Okay. I'm cursed."

"Cursed? How so? And what does that have to do with anything?"

"I can't properly die, and I have no idea why."

"You just said the reason you didn't die from the Dark Lord's killing curse was because –"

"I'm not talking about that," Potter said tiredly, rolling his eyes. "I mean, even after I've lived a long ass life, _long_ after killing Voldemort or whatever other nonsense I get up to, as soon as I die, I am instantly back to the day of my birth. Over and over again. I've been born twelve times already. Lived my life twelve times – to varying lengths – before dying and being reborn back at the beginning, cursed to do it all over again."

Severus slowly sat back in his chair, staring at the boy in front of him and trying to comprehend what he'd just been told.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm perfectly serious. The reason I know all the things that I know is because I've had multiple lives to learn it all. Multiple lives during which various people have told me different things. No magic divination, or secret sources. No third sight or whatever other rubbish people might think up. And I'm not some sort of _child prodigy_ – I'm not even all that terribly exceptional at magic. I'm probably only mildly above average for your normal fully-trained and _old_ _as dirt_, wizard. The thing is that, as far as anyone else can tell, I'm _twelve_, and no one expects a twelve year old to have the magical ability of a fully trained adult wizard with literally _centuries _of life to give them experience to draw from. So they see me and they think _prodigy._"

"Merlin's beard... you're serious," Severus whispered in stunned shock.

"My first life, I fulfilled the prophecy, defeated Voldemort, married my school-age sweet heart, had a load of children, grandchildren, and lived a very long and full life. Then I died and found myself a newborn infant again. No clue why. No idea what the hell was going on or why it had happened. But I thought, maybe this is an opportunity to do things over and do them better. Get the prophecy fulfilled faster. Save more people. Prevent the war. So I did. There were some bumps along the way, and I would hardly say I was thrilled with having to be a helpless child again for so damned many years. But I did do things 'better', I thought, and once again, I lived a long and pretty full life – although that time I remained a bachelor, and adopted several orphaned magical children instead.

"But then I died of old age again, and once _again_, found myself a baby. Starting over _again_. I was confounded. I could not understand why this was happening, and in all honestly, I did not _want_ to do it all over again.

"That time I came clean with Albus. I told him everything and we worked together for years, trying to work out what the hell was going on with me. Nothing came of it though. Once again, I defeated Voldemort pretty early on, so there was no war, and no additional deaths. I resigned myself to living my life again, and tried doing a few _other_ things 'better', in hopes that _this_ would be the last time I had to relive my life.

"But it wasn't.

"Again and again, I lived my life over. Trying different things in hopes of not waking up the next time I died. I've been a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw. Then I got fed up and killed myself before even reaching Hogwarts age. Tried several different methods for killing myself in fact. Even got myself kissed by a dementor because – _surely_, if I had no soul, the cycle would finally be ended.

"But it wasn't. I woke up screaming out my first breath, all over again, to find the exhausted, sweaty face of my mother, smiling tearily down at me." Potter paused and heaved a very long sigh, frowning deeply at a far wall. "To be quite honest with you, I'm entirely sick of it all. I've tried out preventing my parents from being killed, but that's never worked. I've tried preventing Sirius from being carted off to Azkaban, but _thats_ never really worked either – although I have gotten him out a lot sooner in most of my previous lives. I just didn't bother this time around... mostly because I just stopped caring. I'm just _tired_." He paused in his story to let his head fall back against the chair and he stared up at the ceiling. He did, in fact, look _tired. _That was certainly true.

"Do you have any idea how monumentally depressing it is, living each day, _knowing_ that it's all for nought?" Potter asked softly. "_Knowing_ that it's all pointless? That someday, you're going to die, and everything you've done will be wiped away with the blink of an eye, and you'll have to start all over again?"

Severus just gaped, silently. He rather doubted that he ever could have imagined that the explanation for Potter's bizarre behavior and knowledge was _this_. He rather doubted that anyone could possibly _make up_ a story this crazy.

He found himself once again, slowly closing his mouth and attempting to find a coherent thought to express. His mind latched onto one thing and he pressed forward.

"You said that in some of your – previous lives, that you'd killed the Dark Lord before he'd even gotten a body back. Why – why haven't you done that this time?"

Potter sat forward in his chair, looking across at Severus and actually _smirked_. "Ah, but you see – each time I've bothered to let a life go beyond the first few years of life, I've always decided to try something _different_, in hopes that maybe this change will be what fate wants in order to finally grant me my reprieve. But during every one of those lives, there was always one consistency."

He paused for dramatic effect and Severus nearly snarled at him with his impatience.

"I always killed Voldemort," Potter said, still with that obnoxious grin. "So I figured... why not change _that?_ Maybe, what I need to do differently is _not_ fulfill the prophecy. I hadn't tried that yet. Why not let Tom win? I'm at the point where I don't give fuck all what happens to the rest of the world. I fully acknowledge that I'm being a selfish bastard, but I just don't give a shite anymore. Besides, chances are that _this_ won't work either, and when I do finally die, I'll just redo it all, all over again, and I'll try something else."

"You... you're... you've got to be _joking!"_

"Why not? Why not let him win?"

"Because he killed your parents! Because he's a lunatic!"

"Hey, _you're_ the one who signed up to his little crusade at one point. You've got admit that some of his ideology isn't that bad. Especially his political work back in the 60's. The muggle-enslavement thing didn't come along until the late 70's when he finally went totally insane."

"But that's just it! He's _insane!_"

"I actually have a theory for fixing that."

Severus came up short. "_Fixing_ that?" he echoed incredulously.

Potter hummed and nodded his head. "Yeah. I know what caused him to totally lose his mind, _and_ I know of a way that will probably counter-act it. The trick will be persuading him that it's in his best interest to actually do it."

"_You_ intend to try and _persuade_ the Dark Lord to _fix himself?_" Severus sneered with disdainful disbelief.

"I intend to try, yes," Potter said calmly. "If he kills me, I just start over again, so what's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal," Severus echoed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Hell, maybe I'm supposed to let _him_ kill me. I haven't tried _that_ yet," Potter said with a shrug.

"You are utterly ridiculous!"

"No, I'm hundreds of years old; extremely bitter, and mildly insane. Probably more than mildly... but I think it's difficult to gauge one's own sanity level."

Severus let out a cough in incredulity before letting his face fall into his hands. This was so far beyond anything he had been prepared to hear. He had no idea what to do with this information.

"You truly intend to let the Dark Lord win?" he muttered through his hands.

"I'm the one that helped him get the Stone."

Severus' head shot up and once again, he found himself gaping at the boy.

But that did make sense – didn't it? It had been far too easy for Quirrell to get through the obstacles on his first go. And Albus had apparently been _so sure_ that his last one was fool proof.

"So he knows you're helping him, then?"

Potter shook his head. "No. I sent him an anonymous letter. I didn't think he was quite ready to know it was me – plus I didn't want to risk revealing my choice of side to the wrong source, too early."

Severus continued to bury his face in his hands, trying to process all of this. It was really rather too much to handle, honestly.

"Why have you told me this?" he whispered finally.

"Well... for one thing, you said you wanted to know."

Severus raised his face just enough to _glare_ at the boy... who wasn't really a boy, he supposed.

"Secondly... I don't know... I like you, I guess.," Potter said with a chuckle and a shrug. "And you _are _the reason I survived the first killing curse. Plus you loved my mum." Severus flinched. Potter continued.

"I wanted to give you a chance to chose which side you want to stick to. I know that Dumbledore made you give him a vow that you would always do everything in your power to protect Lily's son... sooo... I know that puts you in a bit of a pickle as far as these things are concerned. Especially if you end up deciding to stay on Dumbledore's side, seeing as how I intend to go the other way."

Severus groaned and returned his face to his hands.

"I need time to think," he said after several long minutes.

"Take all the time you need," Potter replied easily. "I'm not going anywhere – well, not unless Dumbledore's Order people do something exceptionally annoying, but even then I intend to go back to Hogwarts in the fall.

– –

Harry didn't hear from Snape again for the rest of the summer. Dumbledore's Order members continued to sporadically show up around his flat, and every time one of them tried to stay beyond a simple sweep of the area, he would go out to greet them and tell them to fuck off – admittedly, without saying explicitly that, but the intention was the same.

The end of August drew to a close and Harry ended his lease and put his furniture back into storage – which meant he shrunk it all down into a tiny box and stuck it into his Gringott's vault. He got to King's Cross station rather early and after getting himself a croissant from a vendor, he headed to Platform 9 ¾ and then directly onto the train.

It was quite some time later before he had any company, and it came in the form of Draco Malfoy, along with Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle flanking him. They joined Harry without even asking, not that he really had any problem with that, and Draco quickly set about the task of recounting how utterly awesome his summer had been, while Harry didn't honestly even bother _pretending_ that he cared. Draco honestly didn't _care_ if Harry cared. Harry figured that Draco just liked hearing himself talk.

Eventually a few other Slytherins from their year joined them, and the group socialized as twelve-year-old's do, while Harry sat comfortably in the corner with his nose tucked firmly in a book. The others had seemed to accept long ago that this was just how he was and to not bother trying to draw him into conversation because it simply wouldn't work.

Harry was honestly surprised sometimes how easily the Slytherin children had accepted him. When he'd decided that he wasn't going to fight the hat in the least and just let it put him where it wanted – and it had _always_ wanted to put him in Slytherin – he had honestly expected to be scorned by the whole house. He wasn't entirely sure _why_ he had been so sure of this outcome. Probably because in every life he'd lived, no matter what house he'd ended up in, the Slytherins had hated him.

But during those lives, Harry had always clearly been the beacon and icon of the enemy. Even when Harry had been a Ravenclaw, that had also been the life that he'd spent so much time with Dumbledore trying to work out some explanation for why he was stuck in some sort of bizarre infinite loop.

Even during the lives he'd lived where Voldemort was never able to make a return, and thus, there was no second war, Harry had still been seen as the 'enemy' by the Slytherins. He was on Dumbledore's side – even when he really hadn't been – and he was the Boy-Who-Lived; the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord.

And while he had given absolutely no indication to anyone that he had any fond feelings for Albus Dumbledore, in this life, he had still been fairly sure that being 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' would be enough for the Slytherins to at least be mildly hostile. Surprisingly, they really hadn't.

He was still a Potter, and while his blood was tainted by his mother, the Potters were still a very old line and had at one point been very influential. They'd intermarried with the Black's, the Longbottom's, the Brand's, the Gamp's, the McMillian's etc – and they descended from the Peverells. While most of the ancestral details were not all that well known these days, it was still a good pedigree, and the _idea_ that he came from good breeding was still firmly embedded in the minds of the pure-blood raised children.

And Slytherins had never really been known for _loyalty._ They were more the sort that took whatever strategy was most beneficial for them, when it was most beneficial. The stronger Slytherins sought power for themselves and equally powerful allies; the weaker Slytherins sought to gain the favor the of the stronger Slytherins. Pretty much all of the Slytherins understood the value of establishing ties to other powerful Slytherins. After all, they were all taught by their parents how important the power of good _networking_ was. Many of them had parents who were pure socialites, and in their world, it was all about _who you knew_.

Becoming _friendly_ with someone who was powerful, was always a 'noble' goal for a Slytherin. Harry had quickly been perceived as powerful. Everyone knew, of course, the fact that he'd survived the killing curse and 'destroyed' Voldemort, _as a baby_, but if he had come to Hogwarts and proven to be a complete imbecile, that legend would have done very little for him in Slytherin. No – it was his academic performance, his demonstration of practical spell knowledge above his years, and probably also his aloof behavior, that had gained their favor.

Best of all, Harry did not come off as pompous or arrogant. He knew he was stronger than most all of them, and they probably knew it too, but he didn't flout that fact in their faces, and they appreciated that. It was a skill that Draco had not yet learned for himself. He had more power than most of them because of his father's political influence, and their significant fortune. Draco held nothing back in making sure that everyone else was fully aware of just how powerful Draco thought himself to be. And most of the other students were inclined to suck up to him on some level simply because he would probably be a very bad person to be on the bad side of, later in life. One day _he_ would be the head of the Malfoy family and it's fortune, and _he_ would inherit their six seats on the Wizengamot and most likely end up in some sort of powerful political position within the Ministry. No one wanted to be his _enemy_, but not many people – older students especially – were all that fond of him.

Draco had learned early on, however, that Harry was not the least bit impressed by any of his political clout or family wealth, and had switched tactics with his attempts to woo favor with Harry. Basically, he'd treated Harry like an _equal – _with respect and the occasional friendly banter. Harry had been surprised by the approach, and continued to remain mostly aloof with the other boy, just as he did with _all_ of his house mates. It had taken nearly all of their first year before Harry finally found himself warming up to the blond prat a bit. He'd even allowed him to start calling him 'Harry', which had brought about the most amusingly smug smile to Draco's face. Like he'd just accomplished some especially tricky spell and been given a prize for it.

The train arrived at Hogsmeade station and the group of Slytherins piled out and into one of the carriages. Harry's eyes lingered on the Thestrals wondering if any of the other children that surrounded him could see them. He decided there was little reason to hold back on his curiosity and so he asked them. Several of them didn't even realize that something _was_ pulling the carriages, and had never even _heard_ of Thestrals, but Draco, Greengrass, and Zabini all knew what he was talking about. Zabini was the only one who could see them though. Harry wondered who he had seen die, and then wondered if the boy had actually born witness to any of his many step-fathers mysterious ends. He decided it would be tactless to ask, and so he didn't.

No one asked him who he'd seen die. They probably assumed he was his parents.

The feast was totally uneventful. Obviously, Harry and Ron had not taken a flying car and had not landed in the whomping willow. Harry had only ever done that his first time through, and it was so distant a memory at this point that he barely spared it a thought. He tried not to compare things to previous lives, but it always seemed to happen anyway. It was one of the reasons he'd started trying to make things drastically different between each incarnation of his life. Fewer things similar, fewer things to remind of of what he'd lived and lost.

His eyes met briefly with Snape's, during the actual feast. The other man had looked back with an utterly blank expression and Harry wondered how the man would treat him this year. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter, but he knew that some part of him would hurt if the man spurned him, utterly.

One of his earlier lives, he'd become quite close to the man. He could hardly even tell you how it happened, just that it somehow had. He certainly didn't hold anywhere near the same level of animosity he had for the man during his first life. Of course, during that life, Harry had _killed_ Voldemort, _not joined him_. Snape had firmly left Voldemort's side as soon as the man had killed Lily Potter, and as far as Harry knew, he hadn't looked back since.

Harry had heaved an annoyed sigh as his eyes traveled further down the table and fallen upon Gilderoy Lockheart. He was _not_ looking forward to Defense this year. He knew Snape had been overworked the later-half of the previous year, covering half of the defense classes after Quirrell had left, but Harry couldn't help but wonder if he could find some way to get rid of Lockheart so that Snape would once again teach them Defense.

Maybe he could even get a time turner for Snape to use, so he wouldn't be quite so horribly over-stressed.

When Lockheart was introduced during Dumbledore's speech, there were excited twitters among the female population of the school, and a lot of rolling eyes from the boys. Harry was wondering if he could trick the man into obliviating himself within the first month and save them all from a completely wasted year.


	4. Chapter 4

–

Snape didn't call on him at all during Tuesday's Potions lesson and Harry tried to convince himself that it wasn't really that big a deal, and it didn't _really_ bother him. Snape couldn't repeat what Harry had said to him over the summer, and if Dumbledore was able to get enough from Snape to realize that he needed to be _worried, _he wouldn't know what it was he needed to be worried about. Hell, Dumbledore was _already_ worried. If Harry found himself in a real tight place, he'd just _leave_. He was perfectly capable of disappearing.

Just before the end of class, however, Snape curtly told Harry to come to his office that evening after dinner and then dismissed him with the rest of the class. As such, quite a few hours later, Harry found himself standing at the door to his current Head of House's office and knocking on the door.

Snape opened it a moment later and ushered him inside to the available seat opposite the man's desk before taking his own seat. Harry tried to keep his expression mostly blank at this point since he still didn't know which direction this conversation would go in. It had been a very long time since Harry Potter last wore his heart on his sleeve, even in the presence of potential opposition. The ability to mask his inner feelings had been especially useful since entering Slytherin house, since Slytherins were especially adept at picking up on people's emotions and using them against you. But even when he wasn't surrounded by Slytherins most of the time, he had learned that showing his emotions just made it easier to get close to people, and that's when he got hurt the worst.

Snape was actually the one who looked most unsettled, but his discomfort was well suppressed. He folded his hands upon his desk and made eye contact with Harry for what was honestly a rather unsettlingly long time. Harry held his gaze back unflinchingly. Slowly, Snape retracted his wand and Harry's eyes narrowed with caution, but he didn't draw his own. He watched as the professor began to wave his hand in a familiar pattern, setting up a privacy ward around the office. Finally, Snape spoke.

"I have given what we discussed last, a great deal of thought," he began in a slow, deliberate drawl. Harry cocked a single questioning eyebrow, but did nothing else. "I have decided that I wish to assist you, in whatever ways I can. I – dearly hope, that you do in fact have some method for restoring the Dark Lord's sanity, however I am not optimistic."

Harry snorted. Snape – _optimistic_?

Snape glared at him for a moment, but kept going. "I – I will admit that your revelation that the Dark Lord did in fact attempt to honor the promise he gave me, in regards to your mother, is rather surprising. I had assumed that he had simply ignored the request all together."

"It was my mum's choice," Harry said in a soft voice. "She could have saved herself that day, but she didn't."

"No... no, she wouldn't," Snape said softly, looking away and frowning almost sadly. He paused for a moment before focusing on Harry. "No. She saved you, instead. And I promised that I would honor that and protect you in her stead. I never thought I could get past the fact that you are still your father's son, but there is very little of James Potter in you as far as I can tell."

Harry gave a bitter snort and a sardonic sort of grin. "Any bits of James Potter that might have somehow managed to genetically work their way into me were conditioned out a lot time ago by simply living my life. I'm old and tired, and a bit too bitter to take much enjoyment in silly things like _pranks_. I would say that my father's youth was far too carefree for he and I to have much of anything in common."

Snape gave a distanced sort of hum in response, looking away with unfocused eyes. "You don't remind me much of your mother either, though."

"Again – I think that a person's early years plays a large role in the sort of person they become, and the years of life they live after that just as large a role as well. My youth was nothing like my parents – either of them – and I've lived a great deal longer than either of them did."

"I find it difficult not to look upon you and think of you as a child that still needs protecting. _Lily's child_... but then I'm not sure that you're that at all. Not Potter's brat, nor Lily's child..."

"I'm just Harry," Harry said simply and shrugged.

"Harry."

"Just, Harry."

Snape gave a distracted sort of nod, looking Harry in the eyes for several long moments before turning his gaze back towards the wall and appearing thoughtful.

"Would you be willing to tell me what your plan is for restoring the Dark Lord's sanity?" Snape asked after a lengthy silence.

Harry hummed and tilted his head to the side. "Hmm... maaaybe. Not sure if I'm quite ready to reveal that yet, though. The information also happens to include some of the details a person would need if they wanted to kill him, and I'm not willing for that to get around."

"Not like I could _tell_ anyone," Snape sneered, cocking a single brow at Harry.

Harry grinned back, unapologetic. "True, but there's nothing stopping you from acting on that knowledge to do something yourself."

"Would I even be able to do anything about it?" Snape asked almost incredulously.

"_Anyone_ could kill Voldemort, if they know the steps needed to remove his safety nets. This notion that it had to be _me_ was always ludicrous. Dumbledore could have done it himself, but in my first life he still left it up to me, even after he knew what to do! And did he tell me what to do? Nooooo... of course not. That would be _too easy_. I think he was just too much of a coward to do me in, himself, and knew that if _he_ was the one to take out Voldemort, he'd have to kill me himself, rather than hoping I'd kill myself in the _right way_."

"_Kill you?_ What nonsense are you spouting now?"

"I'm one of the things tying Voldemort to the world of the living," Harry said with a snort. "Actually, part of me thought that the whole killing myself before going to Hogwarts, and thus, not defeating him, would be enough to count as 'letting Voldemort win', but I suspect the fact that I _died_, and thus, removed the tie from me that keeps him immortal, might be complicating that. Not really sure, though. But I thought it was worth a shot. Which is why I'm now trying the angle of living a longer life, _and_ letting him win."

"What happens if you 'let him win' and the world ends up in ruins, but you're finally successful and you do not go back into a repeating loop afterwards? Are you truly alright with leaving the world in ruins?"

"As far as I can tell, the world doesn't keep going if I go back into a loop – but how would I know? Maybe every one of these lives I've lived are alternate universes that co-exist, so every one of them keeps going after I've died, and everyone else has to live with the consequences of my actions. In that case, the worlds where I offed myself early on, probably suffered from an insane Voldemort's reign, since I wasn't around to stop him, or else Dumbledore got his act together and dealt with the problem on his own, like he should have, instead of leaving such a heavy weight on the shoulders of a _child_."

"Reasonable argument," Snape said with a conceding nod. "I'm not sure if I entirely understand your insinuation that _you_ are part of what's keeping the Dark Lord alive, however."

"I'll probably explain it to you at some point," Harry said with a sigh and a dismissive sort of wave to his hand that clearly irritated Snape if the look on his face was any indication.

"So I suppose all that is left is for me to ask you what you would prefer I do from here on out," Snape said after a few moments. He looked rather resigned as he said this and Harry wondered if part of Snape was thinking that he had just taken on another secretive master that would do nothing but use him.

Harry just shrugged. "Just... be _you_. You don't have to do _anything_. Treat me like you treated me last year. Nothing's really changed – well, except now you understand the _real_ reason why I know the stuff I know – but I'm still your student and you're still my head of house. Mentally, I may be a lot older than twelve, but physically and _legally, _I'm twelve. I don't really have anything special planned for this year. I already counteracted the more unpleasant events that I've had happen in previous lives. I suppose there's always the possibility of something unexpected, and I don't honestly know what Voldemort will get up to, but I'll deal with it when it happens."

"You don't need me to do... _anything?_" Snape asked dubiously.

Harry gave another one shouldered shrug. "No."

"What if I am summoned by the Dark Lord?"

"I'll know on my own, you don't have to 'report' to me or anything like that."

Snape almost looked surprised, but mostly he looked skeptical. "And how will you do that?"

"He and I are linked. That thing about me that makes him immortal? It's localized in my scar, but it literally creates an invisible mental connection between the two of us. He doesn't know about it yet, nor does he know how to use it, but I've had loads of time to practice with the damn thing, and come to understand how best to make use of it. I'll know if he summons you all, and I'll probably be able to spy on the whole thing, too."

Snape's eyes widened somewhat and his brows raised into his forehead, but he apparently chose not to comment further.

"You know... I suppose there is _something_ you could do," Harry said suddenly, earning a wary look from Snape. "You could tell me if you ever start to get the vibe that Dumbledore is finally starting to understand that I'm not only _not_ on his side, but on Voldemort's side instead – or if he starts to think there's the serious potential for me going _Dark _or whatever, and gets pro-active on his approach with me."

"Are you 'going dark or whatever'?" Snape asked with an arched brow.

"Are you asking me if I know Dark Magic?" Harry asked with an amused, wry grin.

"No, not at all," Snape drawled sarcastically. "I'm just asking because if you honestly intend to 'join the Dark Lord', you will eventually be expected to have some involvement in the Dark Arts."

Harry snorted. "I was an Auror in two of my lives – the first two, to be specific – and you can't fight Dark wizards without understanding Dark magic. I _might_ have delved into it a bit more than was absolutely necessary for the job the second time around, mostly because I was bored and had the time. I am also of the opinion that a lot of the stuff that the Ministry has banned with the excuse that it's 'dark' is a bunch of politically motivated rubbish, and isn't _dark_ at all. In fact, in my second life, I ended rather deeply involved in politics and legislation, and got rather intimately acquainted with just how utterly fucked up and corrupt much of our restrictions and regulations concerning what magic is banned or not, is."

"Is that so? You don't really strike me as a politician."

Harry chuckled. "A politician? Hell, I was _Minster!_ But I was also a very different person back then. It's been a damn long time since I had the patience to deal with that level of utter bullshit..." he sighed, grimacing slightly before refocusing.

Snape looked like he was having trouble believing Harry's claims, but didn't come out and voice his doubt.

"Hm... well, I will keep your request in regards to the Headmaster's level of concern, in mind. However he tends to keep his thoughts on such subjects mostly to himself."

"Yeah, I know that," Harry said with an annoyed sort of sigh. "Anyway, that's pretty much it. I don't know if I'm going to be making contact with Voldemort this year or not. I guess I'll just play it by ear and see what happens. I know he's still quite a while away from calling his old Inner Circle back to him though. He's still mostly relying on Quirrell right now, since he's in the process of creating a really advanced homunculus, using the Elixir of Life and a number of other assorted things. It appears to be coming along more successfully than the body he gained himself in my first life, did. But it'll take time for it to incubate, and even after he fully attaches his soul into it, he'll probably need a fairly significant recovery time to get back to full power."

"You truly have a connection to him that allows you to see what he's doing?" Snape asked, looking both disbelieving and intrigued.

"Yeah, although I don't go out of my way to tap into it too often. He might start to notice something being off if I did that."

"But you will be keeping tabs on his movements over the course of the year?"

"Of course."

Snape nodded. "Very well. Is there anything in particular you would like me to tell the Headmaster, in regards to his constant questions about you?"

Harry shrugged. "You can keep telling him that I'm remaining aloof and secretive and you just don't know anything useful to tell him. That, or come up with whatever you think he wants to hear, but if you do make something up, make sure to tell me so I can back you up."

"Of course."

The meeting disbanded quickly after that and Harry didn't waste any time returning to his dorm, and his books.

– –

_It ever has been, and ever will be the case, that men of rare and extraordinary merit are neglected by republics in times of peace and tranquility; for jealous of the reputation which such men have acquired by their virtues, there are always in such times many other citizens, who want to be, not only their equals, but their superiors. Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Harry was sitting at one of the isolated singles alcoves in the library, scratching away at his sheet of parchment to finish the latest essay he had due for Transfiguration. It was now mid-October and the school year had been passing with absolutely nothing noteworthy so far. He was resigned to simply suffering Lockheart's incompetence. As much as he would love to rid himself, and his classmates, of the man, there _wasn't_ really enough cause to do so.

Classes had been boring, as usual. Snape was, once again, calling on him frequently in Potions, and using the opportunity to award unreasonable sums of points to Slytherin House, while also deducting points from Gryffindor – because he _always_ asked Ron the question first, and when the ginger failed to answer, he would sneer, deduct points and then switch to Harry.

Harry really didn't give a damn if Snape did this, in all honesty – part of him even managed to derive some amusement from it, even though he knew once, long ago, he would have been made angry by the blatant mistreatment of his once-long-ago-friend. But at this point, as far as Harry was concerned, it was Ron's own fault for not doing something – like studying and preparing for class – to stop the cycle from going on.

The only truly annoying part of all of this was that Ron blamed Harry for it, and had been taking out his anger and frustration on Harry at any given opportunity for the better part of the last year – minus the summer holiday, of course. Harry had countered Ron's sharp jabbing insults by utterly ignoring the boy, and easily dodging the few weak jinx Ron had managed to learn by the end of first year that he would occasionally send Harry's way.

Draco, in contrast, took great pleasure in insulting Ron right back. He often made it look like he was defending Harry's honor for him, but Harry knew that Draco would be insulting and belittling Ron at every opportunity, even without the added incentive of Ron constantly insulting Harry.

Harry just ignored them both whenever they got into another fight in the halls.

Harry had stopped actively seeking out his old friends quite a few lives ago. Some part of him decided it was just too painful; another part of him decided it was just too _weird_. They weren't the same people, even if they were. Plus they were children, while he was not. Not that he really let that point stop him, since he would make 'friends' with other children without any real problem. Mostly, it was that he'd known much older versions of Ron and Hermione, and it was the people that they'd grown into that he remembered most fondly, and missed the most.

But he mostly just tried not to miss anyone anymore. He was tired of hurting like that.

As such, he was caught by surprise when he suddenly felt someone tapping on his shoulder and he turned to find himself staring into the face of a young Hermione Granger. She was fidgeting awkwardly, while trying very hard not to fidget at all. Her attempt at projecting confidence was ruined by her overt nervousness.

"Can I help you with something, Granger?" Harry asked simply, wondering if maybe he had some book she wanted.

"Erm, yes, actually. I couldn't help but notice that whenever we work in pairs in Potions, you switch to a different partner, nearly every class."

Harry blinked and nodded slowly.

"I also couldn't help but notice that every single time you tend to end up doing all of the work on your own, while your partner just sits there, doing nothing," she continued on.

That wasn't entirely true. Whenever he partnered with Draco, the blond did his fair share of the work, but Draco was really quite good with his potions – definitely above the normal level for a second year. Just the same, Snape preferred if Draco partnered with one of the more... _slow_ Slytherins, while Harry did the same, to prevent them from causing any monumental disasters. Crabbe and Goyle were never allowed to work on a sensitive potion without at a competent partner.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Harry asked after her pause had stretched on a bit too long.

"Well, yes. I wanted to propose that perhaps you and I could partner together on our potions work. That way you could be guaranteed a partner that will do her fair share of the work," she said as confidently as she could manage, while holding her head high.

Harry slowly raised a single eyebrow, which seemed to make her fidget slightly more.

Then, the corner of Harry's mouth curled up slightly. "Could it be, perhaps, that it is _you_ who is tired of always doing all of the work, while your partner sits back, slacking off?"

She went pink in the cheeks quite suddenly and Harry could see her jaw clench slightly. She opened her mouth to respond – _argue,_ probably – but apparently nothing came to her within the first few seconds so Harry spoke instead.

"It's fine, Granger. There's nothing wrong with admitting that we might both benefit from the arrangement you've proposed. The thing is, however, that I doubt you'd be earning any points with your house mates if you starting spending time with a Slimy Slytherin in Potions class. I can already hear Weasley accusing you of being a 'traitor'.

Her expression hardened and her lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, Weasley can go suck on a toad, for all I care. It's not like any of them really like me anyway. I don't see how spending time with your could possibly make it any worse than it already is."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. Never underestimate the power of children to be horribly cruel with next to no justification."

She turned her head, looking with unfocused eyes at some distant spot, while the anger melted off her features to be replaced with bitter grief.

A pang of regret and remorse hit Harry, but he fiercely swatted it away. It wasn't his fault that Hermione didn't have any friends. It had been the same in just about every life Harry had lived and come to Hogwarts, where he hadn't been in Gryffindor, or made any efforts to befriend her on his own. She just wasn't any good at approaching her peers. _Not his fault._

She straightened her shoulders and turned her head so she was once again meeting his gaze. "Well, I don't care. If they really want to try treating me _worse, _just because I reached out to someone from another house, then so be it. Are you interested? Will you partner with me in Potions?"

Harry leaned back into the side of his chair, observing her for a long moment. "I can't guarantee to be your potions partner every class," he started out warningly. "Snape likes me to partner with Crabbe or Goyle on the really tricky potions to make sure they don't blow up the lab. Draco usually gets set to the other one for the same reason, so he and I don't get to partner very often, but when Snape does allow it and Draco asks me first, he gets priority."

Her face twisted into a barely restrained grimace before she simply frowned and looked away. "I don't understand how you can stand him," she said softly before looking back at him with determination in her eyes. "I've never once seen you be mean or nasty to anyone. You're a bit cold, but your not _mean_. How can you put up with Malfoy when he's such an awful bully?"

Harry sighed and twisted his mouth up a bit. "Draco is a git to most people – I certainly won't argue that point. He's arrogant and spoiled, and he thinks the whole world exists solely to cater to his whims. As far as he's concerned, there are only a few types of people – people he has no choice but to respect – or at least _act_ respectfully towards – like his Father's political associates; people who have earned his respect; and people who are so far beneath him that they aren't worthy enough to lick his boots – which is what he thinks about _most_ people.

"If he thinks your worth respect, he treats you significantly different than he treats everyone else. I'll admit that I mostly just tolerated Draco in the beginning, but oddly enough, he's managed to grow on me. He's more _real_ with me than he is with you. All you get to see is the snobbish, spoiled, prat. I get to see some of what the real Draco is like, and he's really not all that intolerable. He's very intelligent, very witty and funny when he tries – although admittedly, it's usually at someone else's expense – he's brilliant with Potions, to the point of having an almost intuitive understanding of how best to prepare and brew and modify things. He's going to be truly brilliant someday, I guarantee it. Plus, he's my roommate. I'd much rather find a way to enjoy his company than simply endure him, or worse yet, be at odds with him. It would only make things annoying and complicated for me, and I see no point in doing that."

Hermione made something of a 'harrumph' sort of noise and folded her arms across her chest, not looking particularly convinced.

"He's still an awful bully. I could never stand to be friends with someone who did nothing but run around making everyone around him feel miserable."

Harry gave her an unapologetic shrug. "I'll take a comfortable, stress-free dorm experience over indulging in unproductive principles. I can't help but wonder if it is your own sense of superiority and your _principles_ that have put you at such odds with your own roommates."

She blanched. "_What_?"

"Well, you've got four roommates. Patil and Brown are blithering airheads, and so far beneath your own level of intelligence, I can't help but imagine you somewhat snubbing them, just for being so ridiculously girly, and having no appreciation for the value of knowledge. Dunbar and Matthews are both Quidditch fangirls, and I don't see you having much common ground to stand on with them either. So you've got airheads and tomboys, and don't tell me you haven't thought of them in the exact same light before. None of them value knowledge or intelligence. They want to look good, or they want to have fun. Those are their priorities. According to your secret, internal principles, people who have no proper respect for knowledge and learning are not worthy of your time and effort. You think you're better than them."

"That's not true!" she argued instantly.

Harry just shrugged. "Maybe not entirely so, but I bet part of you has still thought it. Maybe used that as a rationality for why you shouldn't _care_ that none of them like you. But you still _do care_. It still _hurts_."

She scowled. "Of course it hurts."

"So you've given up on even trying to make friends with your housemates? Not a single one in your year, has any potential?"

She scowled. "No," she said curtly.

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose not. The only one out of the lot that I'd think would make a decent friend for you is probably Longbottom, but he's too terrified to bring Weasley's wrath down upon him, so he does nothing to stop the others when they tease you and he avoids you, even while feeling guilty about it," Harry mused and Hermione looked at him as if she were surprised that he'd noticed such a detail. "Have you tried making friends with any of the Ravenclaws? I mean, it seems to me that if you wanted to reach out to other houses in hopes of making a friend, that'd be a much smarter option than me. Or perhaps part of you feels like you'd be admitting that you'd made a mistake, if you did that?"

"Made a mistake? What are you talking about?"

"When you argued with the sorting hat and insisted on it putting you in Gryffindor, instead of Ravenclaw," Harry said matter-of-factly while giving her a knowing smirk.

Her jaw dropped. "I – I don't know what you're talking about!" she sputtered.

"Oh _please_ – it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that you were supposed to be in Ravenclaw. And even if your study habits didn't make it obvious enough, the fact that you spent nearly four whole minutes under the sorting hat is another dead give away. The only people who are under the hat that long are the ones who fight the Hat's initial decision."

"But why would I do that? Why argue with the hat?" she shot back, but looked shaken by his accusation.

"Simple. There's no question that you _belong_ in Ravenclaw, but just because that's the sort of person you _are_, doesn't mean that's the sort of person you _want to be_. You _wanted_ to be the girl who's brave and who has lots of friends. The girl who isn't afraid to go up to people and be outgoing and enthusiastic and interesting. You wanted to be the _Gryffindor girl_, and so you thought that if you went into Gryffindor house, you could become that girl. But you couldn't. So instead you just ended up isolating yourself in a house filled with people who have no respect for the type of personality you have, and have ostracized yourself. If you went off in search of friends among the Ravenclaws, that would be like admitting that you made a mistake. That you should have let the Hat have its way."

Her bottom lip was quivering and he could see her jaw working as she clenched and unclenched her teeth.

"Are you still sure you want to be my potions partner?" Harry asked after a heavy silent minute had passed without Hermione saying anything. "You looked at me and you thought you saw a kindred spirit in another house. Smart and studious – quiet, not many or any obvious friends. But there's one very big difference between us, Granger. You want friends, but you don't have any. I don't have many, but that's _because_ I don't want any."

"You don't want any friends?" she asked, almost disbelievingly.

"When you let yourself care about people, when you lose them, it only hurts. If you don't care about anyone, you don't get hurt when they all leave," he said with a completely aloof expression on his face.

She gaped at him with a look of _pity_ on her face. "That's awful. You can't live your life, afraid of getting hurt. You'll never live at all."

The corner of Harry's mouth turned up slightly. "I've done enough living. So, you didn't answer my question. Do you honestly still want to be my lab partner?"

She appeared thoughtful for a moment before determination took over her features and she gave him a firm nod. "I do."

"Fine."

– –

_Severities should be dealt out all at once, so that their suddenness may give less offense; benefits ought to be handed ought drop by drop, so that they may be relished the more._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Harry speared a cube of orange-ish melon with his fork and lazily placed it into his mouth as his fellow housemates settled into their usual seats around him for breakfast. Draco was lazily flipping through the potions textbook that was open beside his plate while eating a rather elaborate omelet that the elves prepared for him each morning because he'd bullied them into it sometime during first year after Harry had told him how to find the kitchens. Across from him was Pansy Parkinson with Zabini beside her on one side and Daphne Greengrass on the other. Flanking Harry and Draco on opposite sides were Crabbe and Goyle, presently occupied with loading up their plates as far as they would go.

"What's the potion we're brewing today?" Harry asked absently absently as he glanced over at Draco beside him.

"Just a simple deflating draft," Draco said in a bored tone.

"Is that so? Hm."

Draco looked up from his book and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Why do you ask?"

"Its just that I might end up partnering with Granger today in class."

Draco sneered and grimaced at the same time. "_Granger?_ Why?"

Harry shrugged, looking bored. "She asked."

"But why would you say _yes?" _Draco exclaimed looking horrified and disgusted.

"Her argument was that if she and I partnered together, then I would be guaranteed a partner that would do their fair share of the work, rather than doing it all by myself," at this point, Harry nodded his head towards Goyle who just stared back blankly. "Of course, I then pointed out that she was probably just tired of being on the receiving end of that exact treatment, since every time she partners with, well – _any _of the Gryffindors, they just sit there and let her do everything. She did seem to grudgingly admit that she would also appreciate working with someone who wasn't just a freeloader. In the end, I didn't see any harm is agreeing, so I did."

"No _harm?_" Pansy exclaimed, looking truly horrified when Harry did finally bother to glance over at her. "How could you possibly stand it!"

"If your point is that she's an 'insufferable know-it-all', then your argument is rather mute since just about everyone considers me the very same thing," Harry said coldly, arching a daring eyebrow at her because he knew very well that this was _not_ her point.

"Of course not," she snapped back defensively. "I'm talking about how I can't comprehend that you could stand the _stench_," she said scrunching up her little pug nose. "She's nothing but a filthy mudblood and a _Gryffindor_ mudblood to boot."

"_Pansy,"_ Draco hissed warningly.

Harry looked down his nose at her from across the table with an ice-cold glare. "What have I told you about that word, Parkinson?" Harry asked in a deathly frigid voice that was barely above a whisper, and yet everyone in the surrounding area still heard it, as they were all holding very still, and very quiet, as if waiting for some sort of awful explosion.

She looked confused for the briefest moment before understanding and then _fear_ dawned on her face.

"My mother was a muggleborn – _and_ a Gryffindor," Harry continued on, his voice still distant and cold."

"I –" she began, but was suddenly cut off as a sharp yelp shot from between her lips and she jumped in her seat so far that she nearly fell back off the bench. She gaped at him, her eyes darting to his visible left hand holding his fork, but then snapping over to the right arm as it raised up from under the table and his wand was visible for a moment as he slipped it back up his sleeve.

She gasped. "How _dare_ you!" she screeched.

"I've _warned_ you, Parkinson," Harry said with a bored tone. "Utter that word in my presence, and you get hexed. It's your own fault for forgetting - _again_."

"I'll tell Professor Snape!"

Draco snorted. "Oh please, Pansy. You can't possibly think he'll do anything against _Harry_. Just drop it. It's your own fault. Besides, you know Professor Snape doesn't like us using that word _either_."

"_Draco!"_ she whined.

Draco just raised a single imperious eyebrow at her, and she instantly sunk down into a silent pout while sending glares Harry's way. Harry gave her a very bored look before returning to his breakfast.

– –

It seemed that after that first time working as Hermione's potions partner, she had decided that they were friends or something because the arrangement continued to repeat after that, as well as her now randomly joining him in the library, whenever he happened to be working there alone. There were times when the two of them didn't say a single thing to each other outside of a simple greeting and then closing farewells, but there were other times when Hermione seemed determined to strike up conversation with him while they sat there and studied or did homework.

Harry was mostly just mildly amused by her determination. He was never particularly pleasant to be around, and their conversations tended to revolve around him being rather existential or challenging her views on houses, prejudices, teachers and their authority, and the trustworthiness of the content in her books.

And yet she kept coming back. This went on for more than a month, while the rest of his normal, boring school life continued to move forward in the usual forgettable fashion.

Things were occasionally tense in the dorm room. Nott, Harry came to determine, probably fancied Parkinson, and quite thoroughly disliked Hermione. He figured this because he and Nott had never had any problems getting along before, but quite clearly were doing so now. He and Harry had never gotten 'close' by any means, but now the boy was being borderline hostile. Or at least openly passive aggressive.

The problem for Nott was that he was basically at the bottom of their dorm room hierarchy – which he knew, and hated – and thus, would never stand a chance against Harry in any sort of Slytherin-internal 'political' conflict. He had some 'allies' in their house, but none that would stand with him against Harry Potter.

Draco's family was loaded beyond comprehension, and Goyle and Crabbe's families were basically modern-day serfs to the Malfoy family, so while they were both pretty low on the scale, they were _Malfoy's_, so they had to be respected. And Zabini's mother was loaded, mostly because of the number of rich husbands she had had over the years, who had all mysteriously died, leaving her everything.

Nott's family, in contrast, had nothing. His mother had died when he was only a few years old, leaving him with just his father, and no extended family, as far as Harry could tell. On top of that, Nott's father worked in a low-level position of some form of magical manufacturing company. Not a high paying position – nor was it one of with any sort of influence or power attached to it.

So Theo Nott's family had no political clout; no money; and wasn't all that exceptional in the magic or intelligence department.

Even the other Slytherins who liked the quiet boy would know better than to risk social suicide by openly siding with him in his hostile approach to Harry. Their other roommates seemed to be pretending it wasn't happening – which Harry was fine with. None of them wanted to get involved or be seen as taking a side, and it was more than obvious to Draco that Harry was perfectly capable of dealing with Theo without assistance.

Harry was actually _also_ taking the 'ignore' approach. Outwardly, he acted as if he couldn't even be bothered to _care_ that Nott was obviously angry with him. Nott had tried booby-trapping a few of Harry's belongings, but they were the sorts of hexes and jinxes that a second year would know, and Harry had yet to come across one that gave him any trouble. Harry had had all of his things warded and protected against tampering since before even setting foot in Hogwarts over a year prior, and he'd told Jörmy that he had permission to bite Nott if he tried to mess with him.

He suspected that Nott had tried tampering with his bath supplies at one point because one of the wards he had placed on the bottles had triggered about a week prior. The boy had likely gotten a rather nasty shock from that one. Harry _had_ upped a few of his defenses and was more proactive in checking his food and drinks at meal times, but for the most part it had not been a big deal yet. Just the same, he could see the boy getting more and more frustrated with each passing week, and knew that something was likely to happen at some point.

Ron Weasley was also becoming more and more hostile this term, but Harry could hardly blame him with how often Snape singled him out to make him look the fool. It technically wasn't fair at all that Ron was directing some of his bitter resentment at Harry, since it was hardly Harry's fault that Snape almost always went from Ron failing to answer a question, to asking Harry, who would then get it right. But try using that logic on Ron Weasley and he would likely only get _more mad_.

– –

_The Romans never allowed a trouble spot to remain simply to avoid going to war over it, because they knew that wars don't just go away, they are only postponed to someone else's advantage._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

When Harry first saw the notice on the bulletin board announcing that Lockheart was forming a Dueling club, Harry had barked out a laugh. This had earned him a few wide-eyed stares, because Harry Potter did not _laugh_. Harry had given them bored questioning looks and anyone staring had looked away quickly, leaving him to return his attention to the notice board.

Part of him was fairly sure that he should just skip the whole thing, but an opportunity to see Snape knock the idiotic prat on his arse again with nothing more than a disarming hex was just too tempting to pass up. And so he found himself along with his year mates, standing in the Great Hall one Saturday afternoon, around a raised dueling platform that had been set up in place of the four large tables that usually filled the room.

The club was, of course, open to the whole school, and so the room was quite packed. Harry spotted Hermione standing further away, along the edge of the gathered Gryffindors, who were all chatting excitedly and laughing amongst themselves. Professor Snape strode in and quite a few of the lions made faces at his arrival when they didn't think he was looking. Lockheart arrived a moment later, smiling his idiotically bright smile at everyone who would look. Hermione's cheeks flushed and she stared adoringly at him as he walked towards the raised platform.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. He _still_ hadn't gotten her to realize how much of an moronic fool the blithering idiot was, but it wasn't like it mattered. Even Hermione Granger was allowed to have a silly girlish crush at age thirteen.

It wasn't much later before the club had gotten underway and Harry sat back and enjoyed watching Snape standing opposite the moron, as Lockheart rambled inaccurate nonsense about dueling stances. Snape proposed in a bored drawl that they demonstrate a disarming spell, and Lockheart stuttered out his agreement.

Ah, it was remarkably satisfying seeing the blond buffoon fly across the room and land on his arse, even after having seen it quite a few times before. And of course it was only a minute later when Lockheart singled Harry out, suggesting that he take part in the first duel. Harry heaved a sigh, having known it was inevitable and yet still having wished that it weren't. He considered declining flat out until Theo suddenly stuck his arm in the air, calling out his volunteering to be Harry's opponent.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy from across the small space that separated them, wondering what exactly Nott had up his sleeves. The boy was smart enough to know that Harry significantly outmatched him in dueling ability. Even holding back in classes, as he did, Harry had shown off more than enough that every one of his housemates knew he was far above their level.

Harry doubted that Nott would be putting himself out there, knowing that he'd be made to look the fool, so the boy had to have something in mind. Snape, no doubt, determined this as well because he spoke up, suggesting that perhaps Harry should be paired against one of the _older_ students. Lockheart had insisted that was nonsense, and it was only fair for a second year to be pitted against another second year and then thanked Nott for volunteering.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before giving the other boy a curt nod and walking up to the platform. No matter how aloof Harry acted, the reality was that Nott _was_ getting a bit annoying. Part of him hoped that this might be an opportunity for the boy to get this idiotic anger out of his system, but Harry honestly doubted it would be that simple.

The duel began and Harry held his wand aloft, deciding to give the other boy an opportunity to shoot off at least one spell before he disarmed him What came next nearly made him laugh at the ludicrousness of the whole thing.

Nott cast serpensortia and summoned a great ruddy snake – not just any snake, but a cobra of some sort, with hood flared and hissing angrily. It was like some bizarre form of deja vu, but not.

Harry could instantly see what Nott had intended with this whole thing. Nott was restrained by the contract they had all signed on the first night in Hogwarts, from telling anyone else any of Harry's secrets, and one of those secrets – one of the seemingly _big_ ones – was that Harry was a parselmouth. By sicking a great, poisonous snake on him, in front of such a huge gathering of students, he was theoretically forcing Harry to reveal to the whole school that he was a parselmouth.

Of course that wasn't the case at all. Harry could easily banish the snake without uttering a single hiss in it's direction. But... well, why not just follow this through? The primary reason Harry had taken extra measures to make sure his special skill didn't get out during his first year was that he wasn't yet ready for Voldemort to find out about it at that point. He simply had no idea how the specter might react and Harry wasn't interested in introducing an unknown variable so early, when he still preferred things to remain rather predictable at that time. But Quirrell, and Voldemort, were no longer in the school, and at this point, Harry didn't give a damn if the man found out about Harry's special talent.

As for the rest of the school, half of them were already convinced Harry was just another evil Slimy Slytherin, even though he hadn't done a single damn thing to earn such a stigma. There was also the possibility that succeeding at this would give Theo the satisfaction necessary for the boy to stop being such a dick. That was rather unlikely, however. More likely, he would get a fat head, thinking he'd managed to get one over on Harry, and managed to find a way around Harry's secrecy contract and still revealed one of Harry's secrets.

Well, he'd just have to handle Theo carefully, then, to prevent the boy thinking that he'd won. Harry already had several ideas flitting through his mind, and a rather wide smirk was spreading across his lips, mere seconds after the angry snake had materialized on the floor in front of him.

Harry looked up at Theo and cocked a single amused eyebrow as if silently asking 'Really? _This_ is what you've decided to do?'

Theo's face went from triumphant to angry instantly and Harry's smirk only grew wider as he looked skyward, as if the other boy were hopeless, before turning his attention back to the snake.

_§Oh my, pretty dear one. Are you injured?§ _Harry asked, lowering his wand and his body in a fluid gesture so that he was nearly kneeling.

The gathered students gasped, quite loudly, and those nearest him seemed to take a single step back as a group, as if that would make a difference.

The snake reared up even higher, but stopped her angry cursing. §_What is this place? Anger! Must attack for my master! Fight for the one who created me!§_

_§No dear one, you do not have to fight. Calm yourself. Calm your anger.§_

_§You are a man child. Hairlessss primate. Yet you ssspeak the tongue.§_

_§I am a speaker. You must obey me.§_

_§The power that created me sssays I must obey the other.§_

_§You still possess a will of your own, and the one who created you is weak and untrained. You can easily defy him.§_

_§Yesss... yes I can.§_

_§Turn around and face him,§ _Harry commanded and the grin on his face grew rather wicked as the cobra did just that. It was now rearing up and hissing threateningly at Nott, who made a rather undignified squeak, looking exceedingly pale and rather horrified. Harry wondered if the other boy might wet himself.

"Didn't think this one through very far, did you Theo?" Harry asked in wicked amusement.

Nott whimpered and took a shaky step back, looking utterly panicked.

"_Potter_," Snape said, warningly, stepping forward and looking warily from the snake to Harry and back again. He held his wand aloft, clearly ready to banish the snake, himself.

"Now let me take care of this, Severus!" Lockheart declared, stepping forward, in the way of Snape's shot at the serpent and aimed his own wand.

"_DON'T!"_ Harry bellowed sharply and Lockheart nearly dropped his wand in surprise at it's commanding nature. "If you cast a spell at her, I may lose control over her and she could attack one of the students!"

"B-but, Mr. Potter! She must be banished!" Lockheart stuttered.

"And I will do just that," Harry bit out impatiently through tightly clenched teeth as he raised his own wand at the snake. "I merely wanted a clean shot at her back," he continued and then wordlessly shot out the spell to undo the conjuration, causing it to disappear in a wisp of colorless smoke.

Theo whimpered with relief and his legs appeared to buckle and suddenly he was on his knees, heaving with the force of fear he had just experienced. Harry walked forward with his head held high, chin tipped upwards and a bored, cold, expression on his face. He stopped when he came to Theo's side, looking down his nose at him.

"That was stupid, Theo. Do you honestly think I care if they all know?"

Nott's head raised and he looked up at Harry with wide eyes and a slightly gaping mouth. He flinched at the coldness he found in the green eyes looking down upon him, but quickly schooled his face into a scowl.

Harry looked away dismissively and then continued past and down the small stairs and into the crowd that instantly parted for him. Everyone was silent. They were all apparently too shocked to react. Harry walked over to Draco, rolled his eyes once before folding his arms over his chest and turning around so he was once again facing the raised platform, just like everyone else.

Pansy Parkinson, who had been standing quite near Draco before, had now taken several steps back and was looking at Harry with a rather conflicted expression on her face. She had been firm in her staunch hatred of Harry ever since he hexed her in the Great Hall – although she'd never exactly been a fan of him before that either – but she was no longer looking at him with disgust or hatred in her eyes. None of the Slytherins were, but where the older ones had barely granted him with curiosity before, several were clearly intrigued now. Others looked mildly afraid, but nothing like the fear found in the faces of the members of the _other_ houses. Hufflepuffs, especially. The Gryffindors mostly looked angry or disgusted, but that was hardly anything shocking or unexpected.

Snape was piercing him with his onyx black eyes and an otherwise blank expression before he seemed to grow weary of the silence and called out for everyone's attention again. He called up two of the fifth years and had _them_ demonstrate the disarming hex, and while the atmosphere remained heavy and that giant pink elephant never left the room, it was never again openly recognized.

The dueling club finally came to an end and everyone cleared out of the Great Hall en mass – quite a few shooting glances Harry's way and whispering with their friends.

"Potter, Nott! My office. Now," Snape bit out in an angry hiss as he walked to the gathering of second year Slytherins.

"But Professor! Harry didn't do –" Draco began insistently, but one sharp glare from the man cut him off.

"I do not _care,"_ Snape snapped and turned his glare on Nott. "My office. Now."

Nott looked as pale as an infiri, and Harry just smirked at him. Snape stormed forward and Nott turned to Harry. "What have you got to be so smug about?" he snapped. "You're in trouble too."

"No, I'm not," Harry said confidently.

Nott's scowl only darkened and he quickly turned and marched out of the room with Harry lazily following behind. Nott's nervousness only grew as they drew ever closer to Snape's dungeon office, and soon enough the two second years were in Snape's office with the door closed.

Snape turned on Nott first.

"What were you _thinking?_" he hissed angrily.

Theo swallowed thickly and flinched back an inch. "Sir?"

"Am I to assume that you were already aware of Mr. Potter's rather unique _talent?"_ Snape sneered, looking down his rather prominent nose at the gangly boy.

Nott's mouth floundered for a moment, as he wasn't entirely sure if he was even capable of answering that.

"He was," Harry said in a bored tone, releasing Theo from the restriction, if it were even still there.

Theo looked over at him for a moment with a glare before snapping back to Snape and giving him a silent nod.

"_What_ possessed you to do something _so stupid _as to summon a deadly venomous, _angry and aggressive_ snake, into a room filled with students! I am fairly sure that I instructed the pair of you to cast _disarming_ spells!"

"I – I –" Nott stuttered, helplessly.

"He's pissed because I hexed Parkinson for calling Granger a mudblood. He fancies Parkinson and is trying to impress her," Harry drawled again, sounding quite bored.

Snape gaped at Harry for all of half a second before turning his gaze back onto Nott and looking disgusted with angry disappointment. "Is that true, boy?"

Nott once again turned to scowl darkly at Harry, who just cocked a single brow, daring him to deny it. "I suppose so, sir," Nott bit out through clenched teeth. "But he got away with hexing Pansy! No one even _said_ anything about it!"

"Most likely because they knew that I would only say she got what she deserved," Snape said in a quiet sneer. "She should know better than to use such language in mixed company and is lucky that she wasn't reported to the Headmaster. Where was it that this whole encounter took place, anyway?"

"The Great Hall," Harry replied.

Snape reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Parkinson is more than _lucky_ then. I have _warned you all before_. Do not discuss such things in the Great Hall. You never know who might be listening in!"

Nott's scowl darkened further, and he was glaring at Snape now too, but quickly chickened out as the professor's scowl was far, _far_ more intimidating, and threatened heavy punishment behind it.

"I'm sorry, sir," Nott grumbled bitterly, looking away to scowl at the floor instead.

"That is meaningless now, you _stupid boy!_ It is pathetic and disgusting that you would act out in such a way against one of your own room mates for something as stupid as this one insignificant alteration between Potter and Parkinson, but to so publicly expose what you _knew_ was sensitive information against your own Housemate for such a reason? How do you think this looks from the outside? We are _Slytherins_ and we present a united front, or they will try to eat us alive! We are grossly outnumbered! The entire school is against us, and if they see weaknesses, they will exploit them!"

Snape paused then and turned his fiery gaze on Harry now. "And _you!_ I don't know what you were thinking allowing such sensitive information get out in such an obscenely public venue, but do not think that this revelation will not go without consequences!"

"I'm perfectly aware of how the school en mass will react to this, sir. It was a calculated decision. I easily could have banished the snake without even speaking to it."

Nott's eyes flew to Harry with disbelief and annoyance clear in them.

Snape sneered. "Of that I was already perfectly sure of," he drawled in annoyance. "I do hope that you know what you're getting into, Potter. This can not be undone."

Harry gave him a simple nod in acknowledgement.

Nott was berated for a bit longer with Snape growing more and more demeaning with each passing minute and Nott sinking further and further into himself. Finally the boy was told to report to Snape that evening to help pluck eyes from newts to replenish the potions stores and dismissed.

Nott left in quite a hurry but smirked at Harry as he was told to remain behind, no doubt thinking that Harry would get punished as well.

The door closed and the two were left alone in the room in total silence. After a moment, Snape heaved a frustrated sigh, raised his wand and cast several spells – locking and privacy spells among them – before turning his attention back to Harry.

"You're a parselmouth," he said in a flat, resigned tone.

"I am."

"How?"

"The connection I share with Voldemort gave me the ability," Harry answered plainly.

"Lovely," Snape drawled sarcastically with a sneer firmly planted on his lips.

"How did your roommates come to know about this ability?"

"I have a pet snake."

Snape paused, apparently caught off guard by this.

"You have a pet snake," Snape repeated with deliberate slowness, as if he were stunned Harry was so stupid.

Harry just grinned and gave him an unapologetic shrug. "Yes. His name is Jörmy. I've had him since before first year. I waited to reveal him to the others until after they'd sign the contract, of course. Honestly, one of the things I look forward to with this now having gotten out is that I no longer have to hide him."

"Jörmy" Snape echoed in stunned disbelief. "You have a snake named Jörmy."

"It's short for Jömungadr," Harry explained simply, barely containing the grin threatening to pierce his lips.

Snape's hand came up slowly and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You named your pet snake after the Norse Misgard Serpent that devours Earth at the end of the world." he said flatly.

"Yup."

"How _quaint,"_ Snape bit out in an annoyed drawl as he lowered his hand and glared at Harry, who had now failed at suppressing his grin. "Do you have any idea how Dumbledore will react to something like this?"

"No, actually I don't. But I would be interested in hearing about it at some point, if you feel up to sharing."

Snape's lips curled up in obvious annoyed distaste.

"How big, exactly, is this pet snake of yours?" Snape asked after a moment of heavy silence.

"Oh, he's actually quite small. Well – he is right _now_, anyway. He can, technically, get bigger."

"How 'small', and exactly how much 'bigger'?" Snape bit out impatiently.

"Well, at the moment, he's only slightly thicker then your average muggle pencil, and just about a foot long. If I remove the shrinking charm on him, however, he grows to about thirteen feet long, and three and a quarter inches in thickness."

"Thirteen feet," Snape muttered in mild horror as he sank back in his chair and let his hand cover his upper face. "And you're keeping this thing in a school filled with children?"

"He's very loyal and not the least bit aggressive. Plus, he cannot unshrink himself – only I can do that."

"_Anyone_ who knows he's been shrunk could unshrink him!" Snape snapped, angrily. "Anyone who even _thinks he might be shrunk_ could unshrink him!"

"Not true," Harry said easily. "The spell I used to shrink him was cast while speaking parseltongue. It can only be countered by another spell, also spoken in parseltongue. The only people who can cancel the spell are myself, and Voldemort."

Snape's hand dropped and he gaped at him for a moment before appearing resigned and annoyed. "Fine."

"He's really quite sweet, and a shockingly good conversationalist for a snake. Most of them are quite dumb and don't care to talk about anything outside of keeping warm and when their next meal will come. The larger they are, and more magical, the greater their intelligence, so it makes sense, I suppose."

"I'm not sure I even want to ask where you got the thing," Snape said with a defeated sigh.

"I've had him since I was four years old," Harry said with a shrug. "In this life, that is. I never actually allowed myself to have a pet snake in any of my previous youths – although I did have a few in some of my later years in a couple lives. Still – I never got anything close to Jörmy in the past. I always stuck with the less intimidating non-magical serpents, rather than any of the big, exotic, magical breeds that people tend to get a bit freaked out by."

"Your average wizard will get 'freaked out' by _any_ snake," Snape sneered.

Harry snorted. "Er, well, yeah. That is true. But I don't honestly _care_ if people start going around whispering about me being a _Dark Wizard_ this time."

"You _should care!"_ Snape hissed in anger. "Dumbledore will –"

"Dumbledore was _already worried_, and people were _already whispering_ about me," Harry said factually. "This will 'confirm it' for some, but what do I care? And Dumbledore is already aware of the factor that gives me this ability to speak parseltongue and probably won't be all that surprised by it. What _will_ surprise him is the fact that I obviously know about it and have embraced it while choosing to keep it quiet up until now. _That_ will make him more nervous, but so be it."

"So be it," Snape drawled with slow sarcasm, sneering all the way. "For someone so _old_, you seem remarkably unaware of the potential consequences of your actions."

"No, I merely don't care anymore," Harry said with a sigh. "Consequences mean less and less to me with each passing life. What does it matter, since as soon as I die, I have to do it all over again?"

"I'm beginning to see that," Snape sneered. "So what are you going to do now?"

Harry shrugged. "Keep going on as I have before."

"And you think that's going to work?"

"I do."

– –


	5. Chapter 5

– –

"You're a parselmouth!"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, reigning in his annoyance at being disturbed, before turning from his place in the isolated single-person alcove in the library to face Hermione.

"Yes, I am," he replied calmly. He'd been enjoying the peace and isolation of the library, and wasn't exactly thrilled to now have to deal with more questions.

"You obviously knew this already," she stated with a questioning look.

"Of course I did."

"And your room mates knew too?"

"Of course they did."

"Then how come no one else knew?"

"What happens in our dorm room, stays in our dorm room," Harry replied with a disinterested shrug.

Hermione looked skeptical. "That's rather noble sounding for Slytherins."

Harry snorted, grinning in amusement. "We signed a magically binding contract the first day we all got here in first year. We _literally can't_ reveal anything we see or learn about each other, while in the dorm room, to anyone outside of our group. Not without being punished for it, anyway."

"That's awful!"

Harry just gave her a smug, satisfied, and totally unapologetic grin. "We're Slytherins. What do you expect? That we _trust_ each other?"

"Is that really so hard?" she demanded incredulously.

"Honestly? When I'm the 'Boy-Who-Lived' and three of my room mates have parents who once swore their allegiance to the Dark Lord who tried to kill me as a baby? Yes. It is hard. This way we at least know that none of us are going to use any private information about each other, _against_ each other. We're protected by the magic of the contract."

Hermione frowned deeply and remained silent for long enough after that, that Harry nearly turned back to his alcove and his notebook.

"So why did Nott summon that snake to attack you?" she asked finally, drawing Harry's attention back to her.

"He was looking for a way to get to me," Harry said dismissively. "He's been trying to get at me for a while now, but nothing has been working, and no one will help him because they don't want to go at odds with me, so he got desperate and stupid. He thought this would piss me off since he saw my parseltongue ability as one of my supposedly 'bigger secrets', and this would theoretically force me to expose it against my will."

"But you didn't," Hermione said, looking at him speculatively. "It wasn't against your will. You could have banished the snake without speaking to it at all."

Harry smiled at her and nodded. "Right in one, Granger. It was entirely my choice to reveal my ability. I honestly don't give a damn if the whole school finds out, but this was a quick and easy way for me to guarantee that most of them would find out all at once, rather then it gradually leaking out by rumor where the story would get overly distorted by passing through too many people. The majority of the school was at the dueling club, and those who weren't will have far too many sources available for the details to get too horribly mangled."

"But why would you want the school to know at all?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Harry pierced her with a look for several long seconds – long enough that she began to fidget. "I'm not ashamed of my ability. There's nothing _wrong_ with it. It's something I can do – why should I hide that if I don't have any particular reason to? Just because others might have a prejudice against it? Would you go around pretending you were a half-blood just because you were afraid of the stigma attached to muggleborns?"

Her mouth floundered, and it was obvious that she hadn't been prepared for that response.

"In Slytherin house, it's already gotten me a considerable amount of respect," Harry said after he'd let her stew for a minute. "There may be a negative stigma among many in the school, but the trait is highly valued in my house. Those third year and lower already respected me, simply because of my skill and poise under public pressure. The older years were vaguely curious about me, and gave me some level of regard, but only up to a point. Now they acknowledge me as a legitimate player and treat me with much greater regard than before."

Hermione gaped. "This is about internal house politics? But what about the rest of the school? They're all convinced that your a Dark Wizard or something. That really doesn't bother you?"

"No. It doesn't matter at all. They're all idiots. Let them believe what they want," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Besides, the whole of Gryffindor house and most of Hufflepuff were already of the mind that I was an 'evil dark wizard', long before it was revealed that I'm a parselmouth. This really doesn't change much at all, and after a month, it'll be old news and people will find something fresh to gossip about."

"I still can't believe that you just don't care!"

"Like I said; I really don't care what other people think of me," Harry said with a shrug. "Besides, now that the cat is out of the bag, I don't have to hide Jörmy anymore."

"Jörmy?"

Harry grinned widely and reached into the inner chest pocket of his robes and pulled out a pencil-thin snake, which instantly curled itself around his hand affectionately (for a snake, at least) before angling it's head so that it could look up at Hermione.

She blanched slightly, eyes widening with surprise that was only partially concealed.

"You have a pet snake?"

"Yup. I've had him for ages," Harry said, smiling fondly at the snake. "He's really brilliant. Want to touch him?"

"Is he poisonous?" Hermione asked, hesitantly.

"He won't bite."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, giving him a pointed glare, to which he merely smiled innocently.

Harry focused on the snake instead and began hissing to him, causing Hermione's glare to whither instantly as her lips parted in shock.

"What'd you say?" she asked as soon as he'd stopped hissing and turned back to her.

"I told him that you were the one named Hermione that I'd told him about and that if he ever sees you in danger that he has my permission to protect you."

She blanched. "You've told your snake about me?" she whispered as her expression softened considerably.

Harry nodded. "I tell him everything. He doesn't really understand all of it – he can't, really, even if we speak the same language that doesn't change the fact that he's still just a snake – but he's a good listener, and he understands enough. Once, long ago, I had an owl, and she was my first real friend. I used to tell her everything, and she couldn't even talk back. I suppose that was mostly because I was alone and just needed someone to talk to, but I was still convinced that she understood me, and she cared."

"What happened to her?" Hermione asked softly after a moment. Harry, who had been tickling at Jörmy's nose with his index finger looked back up at her and his eyes were rather flat and vacant looking.

"She was killed."

"I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged. "It was a very long time ago."

"Couldn't have been that long."

"You'd be surprised," he whispered, looking back down at the snake and hissing something quietly to him. "Can he get your scent?" Harry asked suddenly after a heavy silence had passed for several long moments.

"My scent?"

"Yeah, he'll just flick his tongue out against your skin and then he'll have your scent memorized. It'll be easier for him to identify you after that."

"Er... okay," she said hesitantly as she extended her hand out slowly towards the tiny serpent's diamond-shaped head.

Jörmy reached his head out and just as Harry had said, spent a moment flicking his tongue out against Hermione's hand before retracting back around Harry's hand and settling into a comfortable coil.

Hermione eyed the little snake for several beats after that before looking back up at Harry. "So is he poisonous or not?"

Harry grinned widely. "Only when he wants to be."

– –

_When you disarm the people, you commence to offend them and show that you distrust them either through cowardice or lack of confidence, and both of these opinions generate hatred._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Time began passing again, and Harry actually found the weeks after his big reveal to be more interesting than school had been in a very long time. He wondered at what point he had started to enjoy stirring the pot, rather than desperately avoiding it, and couldn't quite pinpoint when it might have happened. Looking back he realized he _had_ enjoyed the reaction when he'd been sorted into Slytherin, and just how stunned everyone had been. He'd also enjoyed the shock from his roommates each time he'd revealed another surprising tidbit about himself – like Jörmy, but also his spiritual habits.

The spiritual habits were something he'd only really been developing the last few lives he'd lived. It was one of those things he'd never really bothered with the first few times at life. During his fourth life, he'd ended up in a relationship, later on in his 30's, with a wizard who was really quite religious and a staunch follower of the old ways. Religion had never interested him before, but he was curious. One ritual and he'd been stunned by how strongly he'd felt effected. It was like his eyes had been opened to a whole branch of magic he'd been unaware existed.

It was religion, but it was also magic. It was tangible, and he could experience it for himself, and it felt _real_. He couldn't believe that he'd been so ignorant of this aspect of wizarding culture for _so long – _and it had been a damn long time to remain ignorant of something considering just how old he technically was. That had been the catalyst and he hadn't gone back since.

Once again, on Samhain he performed the 'calling of the dead' ritual, and once again Draco joined him. Zabini wasn't interested – he said he knew too many people who had died who he had no desire to connect with, and Harry had to admit that was probably true. Greg's grandmother had died the previous spring and this time he actually joined in and sat in the circle, while Vincent once again sat outside of it to meditate on his own.

November had flown by rather quickly, and Harry was now taking Jörmy to classes with him the same way many others would bring their rats or toads or cats with them. It had earned him a great many horrified looks early on, and even a few terrified shrieks when he'd taken to hissing to the snake, but people had eventually gotten used to it, and it had lost it's shock value.

Ever since the reveal, Theo had taken to ignoring Harry's existence completely. He would still occasionally shoot Harry a glare, but not nearly as openly or hostile as he had before. He had also stopped all attempts to curse Harry's things, or Harry himself. This probably had something to do with the fact that Pansy had done a total about-face in regards to Harry. Now she trailed around him like some sort of over-eager puppy-dog; always paying him syrupy compliments and gushing over his class performance, or mocking the Gryffindors who tried to get on Harry's nerves.

Basically, Pansy was treating Harry the same way she'd treated Draco, but maybe more annoying. Harry was not pleased. Draco thought it was hilarious, mostly because it was obvious that Harry found this all very annoying, and even Draco had secretly found her sucking up bothersome.

Now, if Nott tried glaring at Harry, or badmouthing him in the open, Pansy was one of the first to come to Harry's defense, and this _clearly_ annoyed the stringy blond boy. It was the only part of Pansy's new adoration that Harry considered amusing rather than just annoying. But then again, Harry was finding that he found a lot of things amusing that he knew would have once disgusted or angered him.

Not that this was bad, honestly. He couldn't even imagine how much more terrible it would be to relive your own life, over and over and over again, if you never changed. It was bad enough that the world around him was always the same, but if _he_ remained the same too? It would be... just... _horrible_. Not to mention excessively boring.

The Yule holidays came and went with little fanfare, and glorious quiet since all of Harry's roommates had gone home for the holidays. Harry was still surprised that Dumbledore had made no moves to personally approach him, even after all this time. Outside of the one encounter with the cloak and the Mirror the previous winter, the man had made no overt moves towards Harry at all.

Harry wondered absently if Dumbledore had taken the same 'stand back and quietly observe' approach when young Tom Riddle had caught his wary eye back in the late 30's. He wondered just how many similarities the man saw in them. Harry wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that, either. The thought that he had only become more and more like the man over the years. They were still very different, he thought. They had similar, and yet also very different, backgrounds.

Tom Riddle had been raised in a world that had absolutely no expectations of him at all. Even after he entered the wizarding world and started attending Hogwarts. He'd been a muggleborn in Slytherin. An unknown quantity with absolutely no political weight at all. Harry had had the whole wizarding world's expectations on his shoulders from the moment he entered the wizarding world at age eleven, and he'd been almost constantly striving, even if only subconsciously, to meet those expectations, and not disappoint everyone.

Obviously such concerns had left him a very long time ago at this point.

But that was his childhood, and that was Voldemort's childhood. You could argue similarities and disparages all you wanted, and it was rather moot. It was more important, Harry supposed, to examine the adults they had each become. How similar had he become to the man Tom Riddle became? That worry unsettled him sometimes. Could he find enjoyment in the suffering of others in the same way that Riddle did?

He was certainly enjoying Nott suffering, and he had to admit that he got amusement out of watching Ron and even Neville suffer in Snape's potions classes. And that was Ron and Neville! Harry _liked_ them. Or... well, he _had_ – once... long ago, it seemed.

He liked to think that he wouldn't enjoy watching someone tortured, but he knew that wasn't a blanket statement he could say about himself. There were a few rather specific individuals over the many lives he'd lived whom he would take great pleasure in watching die slowly and painfully.

He'd killed several of them himself, as a matter of fact.

It always seemed like there was plenty of justification at the time – and even looking back, he was still angry enough at each of them to console himself with the thought that 'they deserved it'. But he supposed that most people who killed generally felt like they were justified in doing it. It was all about motive and perspective and the circumstances of the thing.

Harry had learned long, long ago, that nothing is black and white. Nothing is clean cut and simple.

As January came and went, Harry slipped easily back into the doldrums of habit and tedium. Snape called him into his office at one point to tell him that Dumbledore had been especially observant of Harry lately, and had asked Severus to to go extra lengths to keep track of whatever Harry got up to. The man had wanted Snape to share information, but had apparently not felt inclined to share any of his thoughts back, which Snape said was pretty much par for the course.

Harry wasn't concerned though. He quite literally wasn't up to anything, so there was nothing for Dumbledore to find. The school had stopped freaking out over his snake and his ability to speak with it, and he didn't even find himself with many opportunities to scare people with Jörmy anymore, so he didn't.

Harry still continued in his non-aggression tactics with any of the more eternally hostile forces in the school – most of whom were Gryffindors – and while he occasionally found himself dodging hexes or walking around a jinxed area where a prank had been set up in preparation, he never shot back or responded in any way.

Eventually, most of the perpetrators got bored or fed up and stopped trying. Ron Weasley just got more angry as his frustration grew, but Harry knew the ginger was simply too unskilled to pull off anything that he had to worry about.

Hermione continued her insistent friendship with him, and he continued to challenge all of the things she thought she 'knew' about the wizarding world, because she'd read some books on the subjects, by pointing out that not all books are unbiased. He'd also started giving her books to prove his points, or at least pointing her towards a few choice selections lost in the depths of the school library.

She'd blanched when he directed her mostly towards books that were from the restricted section – often asking how he'd gotten permission to even check them out. Snape had always been the one to write him the permission slip – that or Lockheart, because the man was obscenely easy to con into doing things for him – but Harry had usually just shrugged and said that a teacher had let him in.

Despite Hermione's fears, Harry had yet to direct her towards any dark arts manuals. One of the first books had actually been a history book. A fairly thin book dedicated to the North Berwick witch trials of 1590 that had resulted in the torture and execution of over seventy witches and wizards. This had all taken place over a hundred hears before the establishment of the Statue of Secrecy, and there wasn't even a 'Ministry of Magic' yet back then, but there had still been wizards in powerful positions – wizards who had taken up action solely for the sake of protecting themselves in the end.

Among many other things, one of the largest accusations had been that several witches used 'Black Magic' to summon storms to murder King James VI of Scotland by seeking to sink the ship upon which he traveled. Lots of weaker and poorer witches and wizards had been accused of smaller crimes, and all killed for them, but the attempted murder of King James VI was placed on a group of far more wealthy and influential individuals. They had used their power and leverage and the fact that they owned land, to make a 'treaty' to settle the issue. Basically, they promised that the magical folk would give up certain branches of magic, including weather manipulation, in exchange for the witch trials coming to an end.

They had also likely used magic to 'convince' the muggles, but that was another matter. In the end, in order to enforce the peasant witches and wizards to follow the treaty, a propaganda campaign was waged within the wizarding communities to label the specific branches of magic included in the treaty as evil or dark, and the notions eventually stuck. Harry used this trial as an example because it had been one of the things that had most strongly stuck _him_ when he first learned about it, so many lives ago.

He had wondered at times why certain bits of magic were forbidden when, as far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing wrong with them at all. In nearly every one of those cases, there was a story like the North Berwick witch trials behind it. The people at large being lied to by those in power, in order to control them, or to get them to follow through with promises people in power had made to the muggles to avoid conflict or to gain something for themselves.

What was even more frustrating was that more often then not, the muggles had no recorded history of these agreements anymore, and certainly wouldn't know if the wizards suddenly went back on these old dusty treaties. But the stigma was already there, and the Ministry certainly wasn't about to take steps to admit what had _really_ happened. And so things didn't change.

It was also the path that had eventually led him to finding something in Voldemort's campaign for domination over Britain that he didn't find quite so horribly offensive. Namely that, at least in the early days, Voldemort had been far more legitimately political and had initially founded what was basically a political action group called the Knights of Walpurgus. They had been made up of younger hereditary seated members of the Wizengamot, as well as political lobbyist, and they had worked to overturn a lot of the rubbish legislation preventing the use of perfectly valid forms of magic, as well as fighting for stronger protections for magical children, and magical communities, and a more varied and well-rounded education system. It wasn't until Voldemort's sanity finally slipped fully from his grasp around 1970 that the group was disbanded and the man formed the Death Eaters in their stead.

From what Harry's research had unearthed the man had, at some point, lost that final bit of humanity needed to realize that killing someone because they didn't politically agree with you, was not okay. All of the first victims of the Death Eaters had been the strongest and most frustrating political adversaries that Voldemort had faced while trying to do politics the legitimate way.

Despite Harry having finally found that there was a lot more to Voldemort's history than wanton destruction and overt terrorism, he wasn't yet ready to expose such details to Hermione, while sitting in the Hogwarts library where _anyone_ could be listening in. He did make a few quiet efforts to obtain some of the old booklets and leaflets that the Knights of Walpurgus had once prepared and distributed back in the 60's when they were most active. They were _not_ easy to come by, since those that still owned copies were not all that eager to admit to having them. Not many people these days even knew about the Knights of Walpurgus, or their connection with the man who eventually became He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but there were still plenty of witches and wizards alive who had lived during the time and still remembered.

Just the same – Harry was a Slytherin now, and he was in the depths of the snake pit. He knew exactly who, specifically, had such old papers still around and had easy access to their children to pass through his requests. Draco being one of the obvious choices. In exchange for being provided with these papers, Harry had given Draco explicit permission to tell his father a number of details about himself that the contract otherwise forbade Draco from repeating. The young blond had been thrilled, and Lucius had been more than eager to pass copies of the pamphlets along.

Other than that, things had remained pretty boring and predictable through February, March and April. The only thing that was noteworthy during all that time were the sporadic mental connection taps Harry did to check in on Voldemort's progress with his new body. It was nearly ready, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to make his next move.

–

May 1st was a Friday. It was also Beltane; the counterpart to Samhain in that both days fell when the veils between the two worlds were the thinnest. But while Samhain honored the dead, Beltane was about life and rebirth. It was, therefore appropriate, that Voldemort would choose this day to finally enter his new body.

Having slipped into the 'man's' mind with more frequency lately, Harry was well aware of the plans and quietly prepared for them on his own. The night before Beltane, Harry slipped from his dorm room shortly before curfew and found himself standing before Snape's office door and gently knocking. It took a few minutes before the man came to the door, but Harry knew he was within it because he'd checked the Marauder's map before coming, to confirm the man's location. Finally the door opened and an annoyed looking Snape appeared there before his expression shifted to hesitant and wary.

"What is it?"

"We have things to discuss," Harry replied simply and nodded his head towards the office. Snape only hesitated for a moment before giving Harry a curt nod and standing back to allow Harry to enter. As soon as Harry had sat down and the door was closed, Snape was casting privacy and locking charms and then taking his own seat.

"This is about the Dark Lord?" Snape asked, although there was very little actual question in his tone.

"I assume your mark is acting up?"

"Quite," was Snape's curt reply, along with a mild grimace and a tightening of his left fist.

"He's performing a ritual tomorrow that will fully attach his soul to the vessel he's spent the last year creating. After tomorrow, he will be full power again."

Snape's face remained mostly stoic, but Harry could see some of the man's nerves surfacing, if only because Harry knew what to look for. "And what of your plan to restore the man's sanity?"

"I've been debating when to start that, and I'll admit that part of me had originally intended to wait longer to actually meet with him, but I've changed my mind. I think it would be better if I approached him as soon as possible, so I will be leave the school tomorrow to do that."

Snape's brows raised slightly. "And how do you intend to do that?"

"I know of several ways out of the school and beyond the wards that I can make use of. The trick is making sure no one notices, or at least _reports_ my absence."

"You wish for me to cover for you."

"I would appreciate that, yes," Harry said with a nod. "I've spent most of the afternoon complaining about feeling ill and intend to remain in 'bed rest' tomorrow. I have also told them all how I feel about professional healers and that I have no interest in being cooped up in the hospital wing. I told Draco that I would come to you for a simple flu remedy potion, instead."

"That seems reasonable, but what about when your room mates notice that you are not, in fact, in your bed?"

"They won't be able to tell anyone I'm not there because it's an observation they would make _in our dorm room_," Harry said, smirking. "However, I intend to keep my hangings drawn the whole day and put a simple distraction ward to deter anyone from checking in on me."

"I suppose that is acceptable. When can I expect you back?"

"Don't know yet," Harry said with a sigh and a shrug.

Snape's frown deepened. "And what will I do if you do not return at all?"

Harry tilted his head to the side and made a humming sort of noise. "Act ignorant. Pretend you have no idea that I snuck out of school or where I was going. The magic of our contract prevents even legilimency or veritaserum from pulling the truth from your mind."

Snape still did not look pleased, but made no further argument.

The following morning at shortly after five am, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and the hood up over his head and cast a silencing charm on his shoes. He had Jörmy in one pocket, a small bag ocer his shoulder, and the Marauder's map in the other pocket along with a very special book. He spelled his hangings shut, set up a few wards around the bed that would make anyone who tried to check on him suddenly have something more important to do, and then silently slipped from the room.

He used the map and his invisibility to maneuver through the castle, out onto the grounds, and to the Whomping Willow. A quick spell disabled it's homicidal flailing and he quickly slipped down into the hidden passage. He exited into the shrieking shack a short time later, slipped from the building and then turned on the spot, disappearing with a crack.

He reappeared on the road just outside of Little Hangleton, just before the small winding dirt path that lead up to the old abandoned Riddle Manor. Of course, it wasn't nearly as abandoned as was believed, but not many knew that. He went down the path just enough to get to the run down old house on the edge of the grounds that had once been occupied by the groundskeeper before the man had met his untimely end, and settled himself into the shadows to wait.

–

Quirrell's pained screams finally died out and he fell to his knees for all of a moment before collapsing onto his side, heaving with exhaustion and misery. He was finally free... only not really. He was still a slave to this creature, no matter if the Dark Lord was living in his body or not. But at least now he would no longer have to suffer the debilitating pain that came during the times when the Dark Lord had taken full control over his body in order to complete his work.

His whole body was shaking and he rather doubted he could even find the strength to roll over, let alone actually stand up.

The new body of the Dark Lord's had ceased it's screams as well, and Quirrell could just barely see the body's heaving chest as it rose and fell harshly with each breath. The body was up on a low table where it had been placed for the ritual and with Quirrell, himself, being on the floor, he had a rather poor view of it. Not that he cared much to see it at the moment. He'd seen it as it grew and incubated over the last year, almost non-stop. He was mostly just thankful for the reprieve that was granted by now laying on the floor.

He was just letting his eyelids slip closed when he felt something in the room _shift_ and a soft creak was heard from the direction of the door. Mustering up the last of his strength, he opened one eye and twisted his head enough to see that the door was slowly moving open. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a figure gracefully stride through the door and begin walking towards the center of the room. His angle was poor enough that he could not see the figure's face, but the person did seem a tad... short.

"Who –" he tried to rasp, but he found his voice to hoarse and his throat too torn up from all the screaming he had done only minutes before.

"Shhhh," a quiet voice said as a shadow passed over Quirrell face and his vision was filled with the sight of a wand tip. The next thing Quirrell knew was darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

– –

_No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Everything was quite painful. But it was _his_ pain, and that was good. It meant he was alive. His lungs still burned, as they weren't accustomed to being used. The same could be said about his body as a whole, actually.

His awareness was in and out, and he knew he was atrociously vulnerable during this time, and that bothered him for some reason. He knew it shouldn't be a problem. Quirrell wouldn't _dare_ try anything – Nagini would eat him if he tried – and the man himself would be too weak to manage anything anyways. No one else knew they were here, nor that he would be performing this ritual today. Yet there had been this niggling worry in the back of his mind for several weeks now that something was going to happen. Something unexpected. Something beyond his control.

As the fog of pain began to drift far enough into the recesses of his mind to allow consciousness, he pushed harder and forced his eyelids open. Immediately, he knew something was very, very wrong.

He was not where he was supposed to be. He was no longer laying flat on his back on the low table that his body had been resting upon before and during the ritual, and there was no way that Quirrell would have regained his strength fast enough to have moved him. At least, there shouldn't be any way – he couldn't have been asleep _that_ long.

Instead, he appeared to be magically fastened to an angled cot or padded-table of some sort. It was cushioned slightly, so it was not nearly as hard a surface as the previous flat low table would have been, and there was some small part of him that was grateful for the minor comfort. Albeit, it was a very small part. He tested his limbs and found his arms and legs magically attached to the surface and for that he was most certainly _not_ pleased or grateful.

He growled out an angry-sounding hiss and tried harder to push the grogginess from his mind. He had to locate his wand, and _now! _

_§Don't fight the restraints. Your body is still too weak. You might hurt yourself,§ _a voice hissed from somewhere behind him and he froze with shock at the sound of it. The last time he had heard someone other than himself or an actual snake speak the serpent tongue, it had been his disgusting uncle, decades ago, and he knew the man was long dead now.

_§Who are you?§_ he demanded.

"Someone who has no desire to be your enemy," the voice said quietly, in English now.

The familiar phrase caught in his brain, instantly bringing back memories of a neatly scrawled note telling him precisely what to expect from each room leading to the chamber containing the Philosopher's Stone, more than a year prior.

"The note..." he whispered to himself.

"The first room has a three-headed dog that you can lull to sleep with music. Second room is filled with Devil's Snare. Third flying keys. Yes. It's me," the voice said, still speaking in a soft, quiet voice. He couldn't help but notice that the voice sounded rather _young, _however.

"Who are you?" he demanded again. "And what are you doing?" he added as he heard the sounds of turning pages and the shuffling of objects on a table. "I demand to be released this instant!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I had originally planned on giving you a choice in this whole thing, but I don't think I can truly afford to grant you that luxury. I don't trust that you'd make the right choice."

"RELEASE ME!" Voldemort bellowed.

"I swear that I'm only doing what's for the best. For you, specifically. I'm helping you here, but I don't know for sure if you'd agree with that assessment, even if I explained everything."

"Why don't you try me," Voldemort growled through tightly clenched teeth as he began silently testing the magic that was restraining him.

The voice heaved a sigh and the shuffling stopped. He tried to crane his neck to get some view on his surroundings and his captor, but it wasn't very effective. He was still in the manor, that at least was clear. Perhaps Nagini was laying in hiding somewhere and would spring out to eat this insolent fool. He wondered what that idiot Quirrell was doing and promised great suffering upon the incompetent man when this was over, assuming the fool wasn't already dead.

"Fine, but try not to get so outrageously angry right off that you're too upset to even listen to the important parts," the voice said.

Voldemort sneered angrily but didn't say anything back.

"You made a fatal mistake when you were younger. You decided on using horcruxes to guarantee your immortality without fully understanding their greatest weakness," the voice said, no longer bothering to speak quietly or softly. It was a strangely familiar voice, and yet he couldn't place it – mostly because he was too stunned by what it had said.

This person – whoever they were – knew about his horcruxes.

"The true reason why you could find no records of anyone daring to make more than one horcrux before was not because all the people before you were too cowardly or too weak to try it, but because they all knew better than to do something so idiotic."

"_You dare?" _Voldemort snarled, as another wave of fury rolled through him like a monstrous wave.

"I told you to hold your tongue until I'm done!" the voice, still strangely young, and yet shockingly commanding, snapped sharply. He was stunned silent mostly by the fact that someone would dare take that tone with him.

"The thing is that the creation of a horcrux does not split off a sliver of the soul as you assumed. It breaks the soul in _half_. When you created your first horcrux, you broke off _half_ of your soul and put it inside that diary. Not just a sliver. _Half._"

Voldemort sucked in a harsh breath at the mention of the diary. Who the hell was this boy?

"And that would honestly have been fine, for most people. You can survive perfectly in tact with a surprisingly small portion of your original soul directly in your current body, so long as the outside pieces are still in tact, but if it gets _too small_, things start to go wrong. So you had half a soul when you made the ring into a horcrux, splitting your soul _again_. That left you with only a quarter of a soul. Creating the locket horcrux left you with only twelve and a half percent. The cup left you with just over six percent. The diadem, left you with only three percent of a soul. I'm curious... how old were you when you finally put that bit of your soul into the diadem? I know you got it somewhere around your early twenties, but I can't help but wonder if you waited to actually make it a horcrux until later."

Voldemort felt as if the heart within his new chest was about to beat it's way right out of his ribcage. This could not be happening. How could someone have possibly figured all of that out? How could _anyone_ know what this boy knew? It wasn't possible!

He felt even more vulnerable than he had earlier when he'd woken up to find himself strapped nearly naked to an inclined table of some sort. This was far, _far_ worse. This person know how to destroy him – well and truly...

"Did you listen to anything I said, or are you just freaking out over the fact that I know about your horcruxes?" the voice asked in annoyed impatience.

"How –?"

"It does not matter how I know! Were you listening? You are currently running on less than one and a half percent of a human soul!"

Voldemort felt his brain catching up as if he were crawling through sludge, but he _did_ finally register what had been said and it gave him pause. Could this boy be right?

"How could you know that about horcruxes? And what do you mean, one and a half percent? By your own calculations, I would be at three percent after the diadem."

"You made another horcrux after that," he said quietly.

"I swear to you boy, I would definitely know if I had made another horcrux," he sneered.

"No. You wouldn't. It was an accident. I don't know if it even counts as a proper horcrux, but there is definitely another piece of your soul residing in yet another place outside your body."

"And how would you know that?" he snapped angrily.

"Because it's in me."

"What?" Voldemort whispered in shocked disbelief and turned his head as his peripheral caught sight of movement. Slowly a figure appeared from behind the angled bed he was attached to and his eyes widened with shock as he recognized the person in question.

"Harry Potter," he gasped.

Potter nodded his head slowly, giving Voldemort a wary sort of look as he came to a stop, several feet beyond him.

"The night that you tried to kill me, when the killing curse briefly connected the two of us together, part of your soul splintered off and got lodged in me," at this his hand raised up and he pointed at his scar.

"How is this possible... how could you know..." Voldemort whispered and his voice trailed off with incomprehension. He pulled himself back together and scowled angrily. "Release me!"

"I can't do that, I'm sorry. Not until I'm done."

"And what, exactly, is it that you intend to do?" he spat out angrily.

Potter reached behind him and appeared to pull something out from a rear pocket. The object that he brought forward in his hand caught Voldemort's breath yet again and he felt as if his heart had gone into overdrive.

There, in Potter's hand, was his old diary.

"I'm going to put this bit of your soul back into you. After that, you'll be working on just over half of your original soul. It should fix all of the problems that have come from you having continued splitting your soul again and again later on in life. If you think about it, it's a wonderful loop hole. You get the security of multiple horcruxes, like you wanted, but bypassing the weakness of trying to run a magical human body off of so little direct soul power."

"What weakness!" he snarled angrily. "I have no weaknesses! I am the most powerful wizard alive!"

"Really?" Potter deadpanned. "And that's why a twelve year old boy now has you restrained against a table and you can't do anything about it. You see? That's my point. You can't even see what it's done to you. How weak it's made you in comparison to what you once were. What it's done to your mind. You wouldn't do this willingly, would you? That's why I have to do it for you."

"You shall release me this instance!"

"Or you'll what? Kill me? I'm one of your horcruxes, Voldemort. I really wouldn't recommend that."

"Say's you? I still refuse to believe that I could have _accidentally_ created a horcrux!"

_§How else do you explain my ability to do this? It certainly doesn't run in the Potter line,§_ Potter hissed at him, cocking a single eyebrow at him, daringly.

Voldemort hissed at him angrily, baring his teeth in an angry snarl. "That proves nothing!"

"Whatever. This whole conversation is just a waste of time. I'm on a limited schedule here and I need to get moving if I'm going to do this."

"YOU IMPUDENT LITTLE BRAT! RELEASE ME!" he bellowed angrily as the boy walked back around the tilted table he was attached to and once again disappeared from view. _Where the hell was Nagini?_ She should have been in the house – there was no way that Potter could have subdued _her_, even if Quirrell was fool enough to fall victim to the boy.

Of course, Potter being a parselmouth could complicate things, but Nagini was loyal only to him and would not allow someone to hurt her master.

He continued to shriek and bellow angrily, hissing threats and insults at the boy while he apparently continued in his work. Finally Voldemort determined that this was getting him no where and decided to try something else. His mind still felt muddled – he had hoped that was just a result of being without a body and that it would clear up once he got into his new vessel, but it was still difficult to think properly and remain focused. Surely it would clear up after he'd had some time to recover though. His anger was so great that it was hard to force himself past his desire to torture and maim the boy violently, and instead work on getting himself free. He tried to focus on the feeling of his magic and wield it wandlessly to cancel whatever spell the boy was using, like he did when he himself was much younger, but it had been a very long time since he'd been able to focus his mind clearly enough to control his magic without his wand.

"Alright, ready to go," the boy's voice trailed from somewhere in the room and Voldemort felt himself tense. Some slim part of his brain seemed to clear of the red haze of anger and part of him wondered about what Potter was supposedly about to do. Was it even possible for this boy to remove the soul piece from his childhood diary and return it to his body, without he himself having to suffer from remorse over the original murder? What if the boy was right? What if creating a horcrux truly did split his soul in half, rather than simply breaking off a piece?

The clarity dissipated quickly, however, and a moment later he was sneering angrily as the boy stepped back into his vision.

"Sorry, Voldemort, but I think this will go a lot smoother if you're asleep for it," Potter said as he raised his wand and aimed it at Voldemort's chest.

The fury rose within him and he felt his magic lashing about the room violently, but it was beyond his control. Things shook, and he heard a window in the distance shatter, but before anything actually _useful_ could happen, the world went black.

– –

_How laudable it is for a prince to keep good faith and live with integrity, and not with astuteness, every one knows. Still the experience of our times shows those princes to have done great things who have had little regard for good faith, and have been able by astuteness to confuse men's brains, and who have ultimately overcome those who have made loyalty their foundation. You must know, then, that there are two methods of fighting, the one by law, the other by force: the first method is that of men, the second of beasts; but as the first method is often insufficient, one must have recourse to the second._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Harry sat back in one of the stuffed armchairs that sat in the drawing room where he'd performed the ritual. He'd had to cast several powerful cleaning charms before he was actually willing to sit in the thing, but now he was grateful for the comfort it provided.

He – was – exhausted.

He'd known how to remove the horcrux and place it into another vessel from his own experience in several past lives. It had been his choice method for getting the soul bit out of himself ever since he decided he didn't like being shot will killing curses. Of course, in those past lives, he'd moved the soul bit inside himself into a vessel and then promptly destroyed the new vessel. Another significant difference was that in those instances he had been moving what was basically just over one percent of a human soul. He had just finished moving a full half of a soul and it had been considerably more draining than he'd expected.

He was thoroughly burned out and all he could do was hope that Voldemort wouldn't wake up and instantly be set on maiming him because he _really_ wasn't in the mood for a duel right now.

He let his head lull to the side to observe his handy work. The cot was now laying flat, rather than tilted as he'd had it set before so he could work more easily. He'd had to paint a series of runes on Voldemort's torso with a potion that had actually included some of Harry's own blood and some of Nagini's venom. It hadn't been easy getting that from her, as a matter of fact, but she was considerably calmer now. He let his eyes slide to the other side of the room and an amused grin spread across his face at the sight of his now full-size Jörmy curled up with Voldemort's familiar. They looked quite cute together, he thought. As much as two enormous, deadly snakes could look cute, at least. Harry knew that Voldemort hadn't made Nagini into a horcrux yet in this timeline and hoped the man would know better than to try it after this. She'd still be a perfectly good familiar without holding a piece of the man's soul.

In Harry's first life, Nagini had been made into a horcrux using the death of Bertha Jorkins after Voldemort and Pettigrew had tortured her into insanity and took the information about the tournament and Barty Crouch Jr. from her mind. That, of course, hadn't happened here, but it had been entirely possible for Voldemort to use the groundskeeper's death to do the deed instead. Fortunately, Voldemort hadn't been interested in taking such a risk when he was still so dependent on Quirrell's body and the Elixir of Life to sustain them.

And of course, Harry hadn't given him any time to further mutilate his soul since he'd come to do his task so quickly after Voldemort's new body was first 'booted up'. That thought turned Harry's eyes back to Voldemort's new body. It was a damn sight better than the one he'd created in the other lives Harry had let the man live long enough to get himself a body back. Those bodies had all been created with that same ritual, using the bone of his father, flesh of the servant, et cetera. Of course, Harry had avoided allowing his own blood to become part of the formula in the lives beyond his first. It hadn't made that much of a difference.

No – this body was actually _human._ It was a perfect replica of what Voldemort should have looked like, had he never mutilated himself beyond recognition. Harry had trouble pinpointing exactly what age the man's new body might be replicating. He'd say late twenties or early thirties, but a wizard could look that young as far as their late forties and have it not be that odd an occurrence.

He was just as handsome as his teenaged incarnation that Harry had seen through the diary and in Dumbledore's pensieve memories so very long ago. Only older and more defined and mature. Quite appealing, honestly. Harry was glad that if he chose any life in which he was going to ally himself with, and thus have to spend time in Voldemort's company, that he'd managed to work it out so that Voldemort wouldn't be butt ugly during that time.

As he observed the peacefully sleeping figure, he saw the lips part and suck in a quiet breath. The eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. Harry watched, silently, as the man laid there, motionless for several long minutes. His eyes were moving about, but almost seemed unseeing during that time. They watched the ceiling, but seemed unfocused. Finally, the hands moved, clenching and unclenching his long fine fingers and then raising them over his face to examine them with his own eyes – apparently realizing that he was no longer restrained.

A moment later he was pushing himself up into a sitting position, although he wobbled slightly as if he were dizzy, for a moment. His head turned and his eyes fell almost instantly upon his wand resting on the end table beside him. His hand shot out and snatched up up, holding it close to his chest with both hands, as if it were a life-line.

Harry felt himself tense, hoping that this wouldn't be the one great mistake he'd made during this whole thing. He hoped for this act to be a peace offering and a bit of an apology. He didn't think that Voldemort would appreciate being kept separate from his wand for any longer, against his will.

"You returned it," Voldemort said quietly, still not looking at Harry.

"Of course. It's yours."

"I could kill you with it, right now."

Harry shrugged. "You could try. I wouldn't recommend it, though. I could be far more useful to you alive than dead."

Harry reached over to a tea table beside him and lifted a mug to his lips, gulping down the cool liquid within before setting it back down and heaving a tired sigh. It truly had been a very _long_ day.

Voldemort remained silent through all of this and when Harry looked at him again, the other man was eyeing him with narrowed, speculative eyes.

Harry kept his body firmly in place and relaxed, even as Voldemort raised his wand and aimed it directly at Harry.

He found that he didn't even care if Voldemort was about to kill him – although, admittedly, the first few years after his parents death were always rather bothersome to endure.

"_Seola idente,"_ Voldemort said quietly and a swirl of blueish light shot from the end of his wand and began to circle its way around Harry. It seemed almost magnetically drawn towards his forehead and Harry found himself going cross-eyed as he looked at the fluid-like cloud now swirling near his forehead. It turned purple in color and a small red glow emerged from his forehead, right where his scar was located. A thin red line, almost like a piece of red thread, was visible suddenly in the purple cloud, almost like one of those muggle laser pointers when you used it out in the fog. The cloud moved and expanded to fill the space in the room between them, exposing the red thread, connecting the two of them together.

"You really are carrying my soul," Voldemort whispered in quiet disbelief.

"Just a very small piece of it," Harry said as the last traces of the cloud faded away. "The smallest piece, in fact. It's enough to form a connection between us, but not enough for it to really influence me."

"If it did not _influence you_, then how do you possibly explain _this?"_ Voldemort shot back, waving his hand at himself and then back at Harry, no doubt indicating the events that had taken place that day, and probably also Harry having helped him a year prior with the stone. "And what do you mean by a 'connection'?" He hesitated suddenly, looking around the room long enough for his eyes to fall on the sleeping serpents by the hearth. "Nagini!" His eyes shot back to Harry accusingly. "What did you do to her?"

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes. "Nothing. Well, I did have to use a fairly powerful stunner on her at one point, and I put her to sleep, but I later explained to her that I was helping you, and then let my own familiar explain the rest while I worked. She could tell I was sincere in my desire to set you to rights, so she stopped fighting. Plus, she said my magic smelled like you – I figure that probably has something to do with the horcrux. Amusingly enough, Jörmy says we smell alike too."

"What the devil is a Jörmy?" Voldemort snapped in annoyance.

"My familiar. He's the other snake over there, curled up with Nagini."

Voldemort's gaze was pulled back to the two coiled snakes and a curious expression graced his face for a moment before he looked back at Harry, once again speculative and – _ intrigued._ "Answer my other questions," he demanded.

Harry snorted. "You really are a rude, impatient bastard, aren't you?"

"Do you wish to live beyond this day, or not?" Voldemort snapped back.

"There are days when I'm really not sure... but this isn't one of them, I think. Allow me to tell you a bit of a story. It'll answer most of your questions, and then some. You see, as best as I can tell, I'm cursed. Either by fate, or Death, or the Gods... I don't know. I don't know why I'm trapped like I am, I only know that I _am_ trapped. You see, I cannot properly die."

And then Harry went on to explain his endless cycle of living and reliving the same life-time over and over again. At first, Voldemort seemed to simply question Harry's sanity, but slowly his expression became more intrigued and less disbelieving.

Voldemort then seemed deeply affronted by the mere suggestion that Harry had bested him time and again in his previous lives – getting to the point where Harry had killing the man down to a near science and could pull it off when still in his early childhood. In his defense, Harry pointed out to Voldemort that having such a miniscule human soul as a foundation for his entire existence had left him so mentally unstable that besting him hadn't even been a challenge. Rather than the angry explosion Harry had expected, the man had been surprisingly quiet and thoughtful at that.

"But you see – I finally realized that all of those lives had had one thing in common," Harry was saying at one point, deep into their conversation. "In every one of them, I had sided against you. I had either directly saw to your defeat, or I had given up and killed myself. Now one could assume that even in those timelines where I died young, you _could_ have still been defeated by Dumbledore at some point, though there was no guarantee. But even if you won in those worlds, you weren't _whole_. You were missing one piece of soul – the piece I took when I killed myself – and my study of horcruxes told me that having even one piece destroyed would destabilize the whole thing to the point where you would eventually shatter and dissolve. So you never truly _won_ in any of them.

"In all of those lives, _you lost_. So what if I made sure you won instead? I thought it was worth a shot. At this point I'm so tired that I don't give a flying fuck what happens to the rest of the world... or at least, I tell myself that. I think that there will always be some part of me that wants to try for the best in any given situation, but my ideas of what's 'best' has changed rather drastically from my youth.

"In any case, I decided at the end of my last life, that if I woke up again as an infant in Lily Potter's arms, that _this time_ I would make sure you won, and that you won live and whole. Every horcrux intact, or re-absorbed into your main soul."

"Are you suggesting that I reintegrate _all_ of my soul pieces?" Voldemort demanded incredulously.

Harry seemed to ponder that for a moment before shrugging. "I'll try that next time, if this doesn't work. We'll see if going forward with you having half a soul, and a set of intact horcruxes will work. If it doesn't, that just means I know what to try differently next time."

Voldemort looked at him rather incredulously. "You truly are out of your mind."

Harry grinned. "Never said I wasn't."

"There is a flaw in your logic, of course. In order for you to die and suffer from yet another of your do-overs, the horcrux contained within you would be destroyed."

"I'll probably move it out of my own body and into a more durable vessel at some point," Harry said with a shrug.

"Why haven't you done that already, since you clearly have the ability?"

"It's been useful," Harry argued defensively.

"Useful? How so?" Voldemort asked, pinning Harry with a withering glare.

"The connection between us? I've learned over the many lives I've lived how to properly control and access it to suit my needs. I've been using it to spy on you. How do you think I knew you were going to perform your final rebirthing ritual today?"

Voldemort blanched. "_Spy_ on me?" he growled, baring his teeth in anger.

Harry smirked mildly before closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter. Harry's body became bonelessly relaxed and a moment later Voldemort got the strangest inkling that there was an _itch_ at the back of his mind. The _itch_ suddenly grew significantly in intensity and he gasped as he felt a presence in there with him, much like when he'd shoved Quirrell to the back and taken control of the man's body.

_'Potter?'_

_'Ah, so you can sense me now? I'm not trying nearly so hard to be stealthy, but I still wasn't sure if you'd feel me.'_

_'Get out of my mind you insufferable brat!'_

_'Touchy, touchy! Alright, I'm going.'_

Voldemort gasped as the sensation suddenly abandoned him and he was left with the strangest bereft sensation of loss. Almost an _ache_. He quickly shoved any thought of the bizarre feeling to the back of his mind as he saw Harry's body twitch and sit upright, blinking owlishly.

"With some practice you could access my mind the same way," Harry said as if he hadn't just been unconscious.

Voldemort's lip curled as he was still angry at the uninvited intrusion but he slowly smoothed his expression and nodded slowly, intrigued with the prospect of exploring this 'connection'.

"So you've made some sort of resolution to guarantee my survival this time?" Voldemort said, almost sounding amused by this.

"Well, I always thought that maybe the reason I was on repeat was because I had somehow failed to fulfill the prophecy properly – that seemed like a potential explanation at least, but I've fulfilled the damn prophecy in every way imaginable and it never did any good. So I thought, what if I _don't_ fulfill it, instead? What if I intentionally ignored the damn thing?"

Voldemort sat up straighter at mention of the prophecy, his face going hard again. "I take it that you know what it says in it's entirety?"

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded while leaning his elbow on one arm rest and rest his chin on his fist. "Yeah I know what it says. I assume you'd like to know as well, even though I'm committed to _not_ fulfilling it?"

"Of course I want to know," Voldemort snapped.

And so Harry recounted the prophecy for the man opposite him in a bored drawl. He'd seen the prophecy through a couple different means during his many lives. He'd seen it through Dumbledore's memory in his pensieve, but he'd also heard it from watching the Prophecy orb from the Department of Mysteries during one life where he had wondered if there might be some possibility that Dumbledore had lied to him. He hadn't – at face value at least. The memory and the words shown by the orb were the same. Unless, of course, the one in the prophecy orb was also tampered with before it was given to the Ministry – again, still possible, but he had no way to confirm or disprove this theory.

He did explain to Voldemort that he had wondered to the validity of the prophecy, and the man had nodded in silence, looking thoughtful for a moment before voicing his agreement that it was _possible_, although if that were the case the only chance of getting any theoretical 'true' prophecy was for Dumbledore to give it up on his own.

In any case, it was an issue that Harry had put on the backburner for now since his current aim was to simply ignore the thing all together.

Voldemort went on to insist Harry explain to him exactly how he had come to know so much about his specific horcruxes and their locations, so he could better guarantee that Dumbledore wouldn't discover them in this timeline.

Harry hesitantly informed the man that wasn't that big a concern since Harry had already moved the diadem and the locket into a second, secret Gringott's vault he'd opened when he was younger, and the ring was in his trunk back at school.

_That_ had resulted in quite an angry explosion where Voldemort had accused Harry of plotting against him, followed by the man demanding that they be returned immediately. Harry then informed him that the locket hadn't been in the infiri cave for more than a decade, and that Dumbledore himself was aware, if only vaguely, of the existence of the Room of Requirement, and keeping it there was a significant risk. Therefor, Harry had done him a favor by moving them somewhere safer while Voldemort was trapped as an incorporeal wraith.

The ring was also a bit obvious since Dumbledore already knew about Voldemort's connection to the Gaunts – for that reason, as well, Harry insisted that Voldemort make efforts to vacate the Riddle house as soon as he could manage, because Dumbledore could very well come looking there at some point.

This only slightly calmed Voldemort's anger, and the man was _still_ insisting that Harry return the horcruxes right away, to which Harry sighed and mostly agreed. He did ask if it were possible for him to keep the ring, but move the soul from it and into something else. This, of course, sparked Voldemort's curiosity, and Harry then had to explain that it wasn't just a _ring_, it was also an ancient magical artifact. The stone set into the ring was actually a small crystallized piece of a Dementor's heart, and it was known as the Resurrection Stone. The ring had the power to summon the spirits of the dead.

Voldemort had been surprised by this revelation; momentarily intrigued; and then dismissive once Harry informed him that he could not use it to make infiri or anything of the sort – just talk to the dead. Voldemort really had no honest interest in connecting with the dead, and therefore had no interest in the ring.

He did voice his curiosity as to who Harry might want to contact with the thing, to which Harry responded that he didn't want to contact _anyone_, thank-you-very-much, he just liked keeping the ring. Voldemort had pinned him with suspicious, narrow eyes, but said he would consider allowing Harry to keep hold of the ring for the time being, depending on how things progressed and how safe he honestly believed the ring to be.

Harry had actually been surprised that the man conceded on the point at all, honestly.

"So I didn't really get to ask," Harry began some time later, "how are you feeling? Any different?"

"I assume you are referring to the addition of the soul I had previously sealed within my boyhood diary?" Voldemort drawled, pinning Harry with a narrow, slightly angry glare.

Harry nodded, unapologetic.

Voldemort's glare died away and he turned his head slightly to look at the now empty diary that was resting on a table not far from the cot he'd been laying on previously. He was now sitting in one of the manor's armchairs in a black over robe, having made the move some time prior while Harry was explaining about his repeating lives.

"I am... improved," he bit out, somewhat reluctantly.

"Oh?" Harry asked, surprised by this admission.

"I feel – _clearer_. I feel more in control of myself than I can recall feeling in a very long time. My mind focuses better. I can..." he trailed off and then looked down at his hand with a curious look on his face. He held his palm aloft, fingers curled slightly and seemed to _glare_ at his hand for a few brief moments. Suddenly a ball of fire appeared there, swirling angrily as tiny forms seemed to dance across its surface.

Harry's brows raised and he whistled his appreciation. That was a more simplified and contained form of fiendfyre, but that was _not_ easy to do, even _with_ a wand. "Nice."

A huge, triumphant grin spread across Voldemort's face, and his dark eyes flashed red.

"Merlin, you must have a massive amount of magical energy to be able to control that without a wand," Harry breathed, somewhat in awe. It was no wonder people had flocked to this man in Slytherin House. Power like that... "How long has it been since you've been able to do that?"

"A great many decades," Voldemort said quietly, moving his fingers a bit and subtly manipulating the fire dancing within his palm until he made a sort of flicking gesture and sent the fireball into the hearth where it burst and crackled brightly and then died away.

Voldemort's eyes remained trained on the hearth for several long, silent moments after the fire had gone back to normal, and Harry let him ponder without interruption.

"I gave up so much and didn't even realize it," the man whispered finally. He turned his head and gazed speculatively at Harry with his piercing gaze that made Harry want to fidget, but he restrained himself. "How did you know merging the diary back with my main soul would have this effect?"

Harry shrugged. "Technically, I didn't _know_ it at all. It was just a theory. But I was pretty much positive at this point. With as much as I've learned about horcruxes and how they truly work... but it was just a theory."

Voldemort's face was lacking any obvious reaction to Harry's words. His eyes were still narrowed, and he still appeared to be eternally suspicious of the seemingly younger wizard, but he at least did not look _angry_. The irrational, insane fury that Harry had seen there before the ritual was now long gone, and even in the instances where Voldemort had gotten angry, like when Harry admitted that he'd already gathered a few of Voldemort's horcruxes, the man still hadn't looked _insane_. Harry thought it was a good sign, honestly.

"I suppose you think I should be grateful," Voldemort finally sneered, looking disgusted by the idea.

Harry smirked. "I do."

"You are arrogant and disrespectful."

Harry shrugged. "Comes with the territory. I lost my ability to give a shit what other people think a long time ago. I can guarantee that I will continue to be useful. I don't have any specific plans in mind as far as the immediate future or the war or any of that is concerned. I'll help you where I can, when you need it, but I'm pretty much going to leave that all up to you."

"Then what good are you?" he snapped.

"I've lived to the ripe old age of 143, in my longest life. I've seen where the muggle world is going to go, and it's not good for us at all. We _will_ be discovered. I've seen it happen, and it wasn't pretty. It was another one of those 'big events' that I thought might be part of my life-looping. I thought that maybe I was supposed to try and save us from the muggles discovering us, but nothing I've done made any difference there. The world is just too big, and we were discovered on far too wide a scale. It wasn't like there was one single thing I could change to stop them from finding us. It was just something so far beyond my grasp, I gave it up as a lost cause. But maybe we can control the reveal better... I don't know."

"So you're talking about the bigger picture," Voldemort remarked speculatively. "Not just the immediate goal of gaining control over wizarding Britain, but also the long-term plans of running it and protecting ourselves from the muggles?"

"Yup," Harry nodded. "I figured I'd just keep doing the Hogwarts student thing for the next few years while you do whatever it is you decide to do, and I'll lend aid whenever you need it. Of course, you can also ask me for information whenever you need it and I can guarantee that I probably know at least _something_ important about whatever it is you want to know about. I've done loads of information gathering over the years. I also know a tremendous amount of information about the various directions the Order went in, during all of my previous lives where I let myself live long enough for there to be a need for an Order."

Voldemort hummed and nodded his head slowly. "And what of Dumbledore?"

"Well, I intend to try and keep my true loyalties beneath his radar for as long as possible. If it turns out that he gets too suspicious then I'll just leave the school and not bother to go back. If you succeed in taking over the Ministry, it's not actually going to matter anymore if I stick around long enough to qualify for my OWLs."

"No, it won't," Voldemort said with a smirk. He paused then and tilted his head, eyeing Harry. "I can't help but wonder why you even bother to go back to the school. You're clearly capable of sliding beneath the notice of the system."

"Well, the main reason that the Ministry's trace hasn't noticed what I've been up to here is the wards you've got around this place to mask any magic performed here. _I've still got a Trace_. And technically, _legally_, a person isn't allowed to keep their wand if they aren't in school and haven't gotten at least five OWLs on record. So if I tried to disappear, they'd come after me, just for that. I could probably give them the slip, but I'd rather not have to be on the run. It's just bothersome. Besides, right now Dumbledore is wary, but mostly just because he's afraid he has too little influence over me and that'll make it more difficult for him to manipulate me into fulfilling the prophecy however he sees best. If I vanished, what little 'influence' he thinks he holds over me will vanish entirely and he might start to panic.

"If he panics, he'll be less predictable, and I'd rather not have an unpredictable Dumbledore on my back. If there's one thing that living so many lives has taught me, it's patience."

"Yes well, I do not have that same luxury," Voldemort sneered derisively.

"It's not like you need me to actively be around in order to do your thing."

"Of course not!" Voldemort snapped.

"Then what does it matter if I go back to Hogwarts or not? Besides, I could always try playing buddy buddy to Dumbledore and get you insider information. I don't especially feel inclined to _do that, _but I could."

"I am not sure how I feel about you being so near the old man when he supposedly knows that you hold a piece of my soul."

Harry's face lit up with amusement. "You're worried about my safety around Dumbledore? Dumbledore isn't a threat to me. Besides, he's still relying on the prophecy and his belief that I'm supposed to vanquish you at some point."

"Yes, but what happens if he manages to convince you that the world is worth saving after all?" Voldemort sneered.

Harry barked out a laugh. "Oh yeah, like _that's_ going to happen. Look, I've put twelve years into this life already. That's a fairly sizable investment. I'm in this to confirm or disprove my present theory. I always like to _hope_ that I'm right and that _this time_ when I finally die, that will be it, but honestly I'm not much one for hope. Just the same, I'm committed. I'm not backing out on this. I've had plenty of years to chicken out."

"And I am just supposed to trust your word on that? After you have freely admitted to having _killed me_ multiple times prior to this? How do I know that you do not have some other theory that you are secretly playing at?"

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "I see that getting most of your soul back hasn't made you any less paranoid. So what – you want to keep me locked up where you can keep an eye on me and make sure that your horcrux is safe and that I'm not secretly plotting against you?"

Voldemort just raised a single daring eyebrow in response.

Harry chuckled and sighed. "Look, I could come visit you over the summer if you really want that. Although, I suppose that depends on where you set up shop. If you end up at Malfoy Manor, I could probably even use the excuse that I'm visiting Draco."

"Malfoy Manor?"

"Yeah, you used that as an occasional base in the previous lives I've lived where you got a body back and regrouped your Death Eaters. I think you held most of the meetings there too."

"Hm." Voldemort paused and then his eyes narrowed even further. "Speaking of the Malfoys... how did you get my old diary?"

Harry smirked. "You should ask Lucius that question. After he panics and gives you some excuses, ask me again."

"I'm asking you _now_."

"Technically, it was a clever little plan he devised – one I'm sure you would have even approved of, if it weren't for the fact that he was using _your horcrux_ to do it. But he didn't know what the diary actually was, and you'd been gone for basically a whole decade, so you can hardly blame him –"

"What did he do?" Voldemort demanded impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes but began to explain. "Malfoy is constantly at odds with another man at the Ministry named Arthur Weasley. Arthur works for the Improper Use of Muggle Artifacts office, but his office has also been responsible for running a lot of raids on people's houses lately, to dig up cursed objects that have been leaked to muggles for pranks or malicious intent. Arthur had been _trying_ to prove that Malfoy has a stockpile of dark artifacts in his home, and over the summer, he finally succeeded at getting a secret raid authorized on Malfoy Manor. They weren't able to find the secret room beneath the drawing room, but it was a close call and of course, Lucius was furious.

"After that, he took some of the things from his home to Knockturn Alley in hopes of bullying Borgin to hide them for him. Among those things was your old diary."

Voldemort's eyes widened and he made an angry hissing sort of sound between his tightly clenched teeth. Harry ignored it and kept going.

"Borgin, of course, took one look at the diary, saw your name on the back, recognized it, and refused to even so much as _touch_ the book. So Lucius left Knockturn Alley with the book still in his possession. He later went to Florish and Blotts to get Draco his new school books and ran into none other than the Weasley family there. Now, Lucius did not know what the diary actually _was_, but he did know what you had told him it would do, should it ever manage to find its way back into the school. He knew that it was supposed to possess whatever student it ends up in the possession of, open the Chamber of Secrets, and bring about the eventual death of the muggleborn students – this being the plan you had told the diary to take out, the last time it had been in your possession.

"Seeing an opportunity to put a dark blemish on Arthur Weasley's name, and put a dead stop to the pro-muggle legislation that Arthur Weasley was actively seeking support for within the Ministry at that time, Lucius let the diary slip into the cauldron of young Ginny Weasley, future first year. In my _first_ life, the diary did, in fact, possess Ginny, and it went on to release the basilisk and end up in the petrification of a bunch of students, a ghost, and a cat – although no one died. The diary also ended up getting destroyed the by the end of the school year."

"And how exactly did _that_ happen!"

"Er... I _may_ have stabbed it with a basilisk fang after I slayed the basilisk."

"After you slayed the basilisk," Voldemort echoed in a deadpan.

"Yes."

"You stabbed it with a fang."

"Yes."

Voldemort made something of a frustrated growling noise as he lowered his face into the palm of his hand.

"Well, anyway," Harry said, trailing off as he pushed himself up and walked around the room towards the table where his ritual supplies were sitting. Voldemort watched him through narrowed eyes as he moved. Harry dug into a small bag that clearly had an expansion charm on it and pulled out a simple looking leather-bound notebook. "This is charmed with a customized protean charm. Anything you write in it will appear in it's counterpart that I will keep on me Anything I write in mine will appear in yours. Mine has a series of protection charms on it of course. I'll leave you to protect your own however you wish. This way we can send messages back and forth if need be. Although, I think we could just as easily use the link to get each other's attention if it were some sort of emergency."

"Yes, but I do not know how to use this _link_," Voldemort sneered in annoyance.

"I'm sure you'll figured it out quickly enough. You're certainly more than clever enough," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

Voldemort stood up, letting his thin black robes smooth out around him and he continued to silently observe Harry as he began to gather up his things.

"You're leaving then?"

"Yes. Snape was going to cover for me, but he can only do so much, for so long. He knows, by the way. About me and about my decision to side with you. He said he'd be on our side, but who knows if he was being serious or just lying to get close to me and keep his own arse protected. I've got him locked under a secrecy contract so he can't reveal anything about me to Dumbledore, but anything you say to him _about me_ isn't covered by that."

"I am not a fool, Potter."

Harry snorted, but said nothing.

"Where is Quirrell, anyway?"

"Oh, he's asleep. He never even saw me, so he has no idea I've been here. I put him under a stasis spell in the only clean bedroom. You shouldn't have any trouble waking him."

Voldemort nodded absently.

Harry pulled his school robes back on, slipping his small bag into one of the inner pockets and calling over to Jörmy, who stirred groggily and reluctantly began to uncoil himself from Nagini.

Harry grinned and chuckled. "Merlin, I think _my _snake likes _your _snake."

Voldemort grimaced for a moment before shifting to a curious expression as he observed the large serpent slither across the room to Harry.

"How can you possibly keep that in the school with you?"

Harry grinned at him before aiming his wand and hissing out a shrinking spell, causing Jörmy to return to his previous miniscule size.

"You can use parselmagic," Voldemort commented, sounding mildly surprised.

"It's the only way I'd consider bringing him to the school a viable option. The risk of someone sending a high powered Finite Incantatum at him is too great for me to risk relying on a shrinking charm otherwise," Harry said simply and Voldemort nodded.

Harry bent over and the, now foot long, snake and it slithered up his hand and curled around his wrist until Harry shifted and relocated him into the inner vest pocket of his robes.

"Well, guess I'm off. Good luck and everything. Oh! Do you need any money?"

"Excuse me?" Voldemort sneered, looking insulted.

"Just asking," Harry said defensively, rolling his eyes. "It just seems like you might be in a tight spot as far as accessing any funds. Although... there really is nothing stopping you from walking into Diagon Alley and going to Gringotts. Not like anyone would recognize you," Harry mused thoughtfully. He'd seen pictures of Voldemort from during the war, and the man had already looked rather inhuman by the 70's, from all of the magical experimentation, and excessive ritual use. Basically stupid self-destructive shit that he'd been too insane at the time to realize was a bad idea.

"I do not need your money, Potter," Voldemort spat.

"Just offering," Harry said, shaking his head. "Anyway, I'm off. I'll be in contact."

Voldemort gave him a curt, mildly annoyed look, but said nothing, so Harry just turned and left the room, hissing a passing farewell in Nagini's direction.


	7. Chapter 7

– –

Harry was sore and exhausted the following morning and took advantage of the fact that his room mates still thought him ill, and stayed in bed through the morning. He did finally drag himself out of bed in order to have lunch, and spent most of the meal fending off Pansy's annoying attentions as the girl _worried_ over him having been ill and missing classes the previous day. She even offered to give him her notes from the day's classes and he just looked at her incredulously, while Draco snorted into his hand, and several others tried to hide their own snickers. The mere idea of _prodigy Harry Potter_ needing to borrow someone else's notes – especially _Pansy Parkinson's notes_ – was honestly a rather laughable suggestion to everyone within hearing range.

Before leaving the Great Hall, Snape managed to catch his eyes and the man gave him a rather pointed glare that Harry interpreted to mean that his presence was demanded at his earliest convenience. Or even his inconvenience, honestly.

Since Harry had never been one for indulging in the curiosities of his house mates, no one was surprised when he left the common room after lunch, without telling anyone where he was going. He knocked on his Head of House's office door and was quickly called inside. The door was closed, seats were taken and privacy wards were cast.

"The Dark Lord has returned, I assume?" Snape stated without wasting any time.

"Yes. Oh, and good news – I think my plan worked. He seemed considerably less insane after I did my thing."

"After you 'did your thing'?" Snape echoed with a derisive, incredulous sneer.

"I mentioned that I had a plan to restore his sanity? I did it. It seems to have worked. Granted, I didn't spend an excessive amount of time in his company, but after what I did to him, I would have expected him to wake up foaming at the mouth and firing deadly curses, but he didn't! We had a wonderfully civil conversation, and even when I said stuff that pissed him off, he never got violent. It was quite refreshing."

"What, exactly, did you _do_ to him?" Snape asked warily.

"Well, he was pretty much unconscious and totally defenseless after performing the ritual to attach himself to his new body when I got there. I just took advantage of his weakened state to secure him to a ritual surface, hide his wand, stun his snake and Quirrell, allow him to wake up just long enough to explain a few things in between him screaming at me, knock him back out, and then perform a ritual on him against his will."

Snape's face was even more pale than usual and his eyes were wide with horror. He blinked several times before dipping his head slightly and bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "And you're still alive after all this?" Snape muttered.

"Shocking, huh?" Harry said with a wide grin. "I think it was a big help that when he woke up, he could think clearly for the first time in decades, and could feel a better, stronger, connection with his magic, than he's had since childhood. He could _tell_ that what I did helped, but also knew, that he never would have let me do it if I'd asked, or just offered. Obviously, he wasn't going to _admit that out loud_, but I could tell that's what was going on. Plus there were other mitigating factors that make him killing me a generally bad idea. I also explained about my looping life."

Snape's head went up and he looked at Harry as if he were mad. "You _told him_? Does that mean you also told him that you've _killed him_ eleven times?"

"Well, technically, I've only killed him seven times. The other four times I killed myself before bothering to kill him."

"You only killed yourself four times?" Snape sneered sarcastically.

"Oh no, I've killed myself seven times – the first three times I killed Voldemort _first_, and _then_ killed myself later."

"Merlin, you're unbelievable," Snape muttered, letting his hand fall down into his palm.

"It is true, though."

"And I don't care," Snape said tiredly, finally sitting back up in his chair. "So you believe the Dark Lord will be less volatile after this, whatever it is, that you've done?"

Harry tilted his head to the side and gave a small shrug. "I think it's possible. Likely, even. I mean, he had already partially fucked himself up in his 20's and 30's, and yet he managed to remain at least partially stable during those years. It wasn't until he went one ritual too far that the delicate balance finally collapsed near the end of the 60's and he snapped. I mean, this thing that he did, that fucked him up so badly? The first time he did it was when he was only fifteen or sixteen years old. He'd been doing this to himself for a _damn long time_. Most people probably would have gone mad after the third one, but the fact that he maintained some level of control much further than that is just a sign of how magically powerful he is..." Harry mused, mostly to himself.

"You're not going to explain any of this to me, are you?" Snape deadpanned in annoyance.

"Maybe someday I will... probably not though. He'd kill you if you knew."

Snape paled and nodded his head slowly. "Duly noted. So what are you going to do now?"

Harry shrugged again. "Go to classes. Do homework. Work on my books. Same-o-same-o."

For some reason, something the boy said caught Snape's curiosity. "Work on your books?" he inquired. He'd often seen Harry scribbling away relentlessly in a number of leather-bound notebooks, and had always wondered what was in them.

"I'm writing a number of books," Harry said simply, not really explaining anything, much to Snape's annoyance.

"About?" Snape prodded airily.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Well, quite a few things, honestly. One is nothing but mental ramblings on the human condition and my general philosophy, I suppose. There's another one that's a collection of essays focusing on political study – what's wrong with various systems; why they fail; how they could be improved. Another is a magical history treatise about banned magics that have no business being banned and what historical events led to them being banned. I've got quite a few on other subjects that I've finished, but those are the more on-going ones and the ones I've got going right now."

Snape looked legitimately surprised by this answer. "That is not... what I would have expected. Although, admittedly, I didn't know _what_ to expect."

Harry hummed noncommittally. "They help me order my thoughts and express myself in some form, even if I can't let other people read them for a while. I'll probably publish some of them at some point."

"I think I would like to see them," Snape mused after a moment.

"I could probably do that," Harry said with a tilted dip of his head.

"So you have no plans outside of resuming your school life?" Snape asked then, drawing the focus back to their original topic.

"Voldemort is going to do whatever Voldemort decides to do. I'll just keep doing this until some reason comes up to do something else," Harry said easily.

"Do you think he will call his followers to him soon?"

"No clue," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I did tell him that you know about me and my repeating life. He has other ways of contacting me though, so he shouldn't have to use you as a middleman if he ever needs to talk to me."

"That would be preferable. I would rather not be your message delivery boy," he drawled.

"Yup, well, that's it for me, I think – unless you've got any other specific questions?" Harry said, sitting forward in his chair as if to stand up, but he hesitated at the last moment, shooting Snape a questioning look.

"I suppose that is all."

Harry gave him a firm nod, stood, and left the man's office.

– –

_A prince is further esteemed when he is a true friend or a true enemy, when, that is, he declares himself without reserve in favor of someone or against another. This policy is always more useful than remaining neutral... And it will always happen that the one who is not your friend will want you to remain neutral, and the one who is your friend will require to declare yourself by taking arms. Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Time once again began to move along quickly for Harry. He did take up the habit of randomly writing in his protean-charmed book, to Voldemort from time to time. It was not exactly the sort of thing one might have expected him to write to the man; and was probably not the sort of thing the man himself would have expected either, yet it had the potential to be useful.

The things Harry wrote were almost always little anecdotes or memories of certain things that Harry had experienced at some point, in one of his many lives, that just happened to come to him at a moment when he had easy access to the book. They usually contained details about events yet to transpire – and possibly never transpire at all – of some sort of social or political significance. Even a few environmental things, as well as summaries of the sorts of advancements and inventions that had come about at various points in time.

Half-remembered natural disasters and vague impressions of when they happened – a flood here, an earthquake there, a tsunami somewhere else.

The slowly increasing isolationist attitudes taken by the wizarding populations of Europe and Britain, and then the awful explosion when their efforts to obscure themselves from the muggles had finally failed. He told Voldemort about the internet, and social networks, and publicly available satellite scans for anyone with a computer.

He told the man about the various spells magical people had come up with to try and hide themselves, even after the muggles en mass were starting to search for them out of curiosity, paranoia, fear, and hope that they could fix everything, even though they couldn't. He told Voldemort about the varied reactions – the bad ones, the ridiculous ones, and the amusing ones. The violence that sometimes broke out; the impossible expectations from some and the vile derisive hate from others, and of course the way the wizards reacted were just as varied.

He wrote out summaries of what he knew of how different countries had reacted – different cultures, different governments, different programs. Attempts at integration, and the backlash that had resulted.

Harry rarely broached subjects of the near future of Britain since as far as he was concerned, that would depend far too much on what Voldemort himself chose to do with the next few years.

And so Harry just wrote and wrote, with no specific goal in mind. He ended up finding it rather surprisingly cathartic.

Voldemort himself hardly ever wrote back anything at all, although Harry knew he was reading them because he would occasionally interject with a question, asking for clarification on some muggle thing he was frustrated with not understanding. But outside of clarification, he rarely posed any questions.

Despite his topics being varied and often times seemingly irrelevant to current issues, Voldemort never told Harry to stop.

The only request that Voldemort made was for Harry to take steps in returning his horcruxes, which actually ended up being a slightly more convoluted process than it would first seem. First of all, Harry had to sneak out of the school again and make his way to London without being noticed. He went to Gringott's Bank, removed the horcruxes from his extra vault and then apparated to the graveyard just outside Little Hangleton where he was greeted by Nagini. He left them with her and made his way back to the school without even so much as seeing a hint of Voldemort. He was fine with that, though.

Harry had no idea, really, as to what Voldemort was doing during all this time. He'd stopped spying on the man out of courtesy and to avoid 'rocking the boat' as their truce seemed rather frail at the moment. Surprisingly enough, the other man had not made any attempts to enter Harry's mind either, as far as he could tell, and he was fairly sure he'd be able to tell. He'd heard nothing about Death Eater activity from anyone else, and the one time Harry had asked, Snape had said that he had yet to be called, and was not aware of any of the other old Death Eaters he kept occasional contact with, having been called either.

Harry had discarded his curiosity at that point, figuring that it was probably a good thing if Voldemort had chosen to take his time and actually try forming a strategy or something.

– –

_It is truly a marvelous thing to consider to what greatness Athens arrived in the space of one hundred years after she freed herself from the tyranny of Pisistratus; but, above all, it is even more marvelous to consider the greatness Rome reached when she freed herself from her kings. The reason is easy to understand, for it is the common good and not private gain that makes cities great. Yet, without a doubt, this common good is observed only in republics, for in them everything that promotes it is practiced, and however much damage it does to this or that private individual, those who benefit from the said common good are so numerous that they are able to advance in spite of the inclination of the few citizens who are oppressed by it._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

"I have to tell you, Harry – I find that _so_ frustrating," Hermione said one day, seemingly completely out of the blue, as the two of them sat at remote table in the back of the library that had basically been claimed by the pair. It was poorly lit back there, but this particular table had the nicest chairs and didn't wobble at all. And it wasn't like they couldn't generate their own light if need be.

Harry looked up from his leather-bound notebook to blink at her blankly. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

"That concealment charm you use on your books!" she pouted, frowning down at his book. "It drives me crazy. You're _always_ writing in one of those books of yours, but I see nothing but scribbles if I try to look at them."

The corner of Harry's mouth turned up in amusement and he turned his attention back to the book and finished the line he was on. "Curiosity killed the cat," he said, still grinning.

She made a frustrated sort of growling noise but after a minute where it became clear that Harry had gone back to his own task, she too, turned back to her revision.

"Are they journals?" she asked a few silent minutes later. "From what I can tell, you've got several of them, otherwise I'd just think it was a diary or something."

Harry chuckled, but didn't stop writing.

Another minute passed in peaceful silence before Hermione apparently couldn't hold it in any longer. _"Harreeeee –"_ she whined, earning her a snort from Harry this time. "_Pleeease?_ The curiosity is killing me!"

"How long have you been wondering about this?" Harry asked, finally looking up at her and clearly amused.

"Oh, I don't know – maybe the _entire time I've known you!_ I used to think you were always reading, but after spending a few weeks in your company towards the start of the year, I actually corrected my conclusion to decide you actually _wrote in books_ more often than you read them – and that's quite a feat! And I know you're not doing homework because I've seen how quickly you get _that_ done, but sometimes I'm not sure because it looks like you're researching stuff. I'm just dying over here! You hardly ever speak to anyone, so I find it really fascinating that you'd have enough going on in that head of yours all the time for you to _always_ have something to write about like you do! I can't help but think that if I knew what you were writing about all the time I'd – I'd understand you better or something. You're like a really tricky puzzle and this feels like a big clue."

Harry paused, piercing her with his eyes for a long moment, and apparently surprising her with the intensity of his look, because she flinched. Finally, he set his quill down and dug into his rucksack flipping through a few journals until he found the specific one he was searching for. He did a quick flip through the pages to confirm before setting it down on the table in front of her. He pulled out his wand and tapped the cover.

"Okay, you can read that one."

Her eyes lit up as if Christmas had just come all over again and Harry chuckled quietly at her enthusiasm as she _squealed_ quietly and snatched up the book. She cracked it open and eagerly began to devour the first few pages. Harry picked his quill back up and returned to his work. A few minutes passed before Hermione sat up straighter and looked at him with a rather confused expression.

"This is a book."

Harry looked up at her and cocked a single eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I mean... it's... it's like a book! Like a text book or something! With chapters and references!"

"That one is a collection of treatises on various magical government systems, their dysfunctions, what about them works, and my ideas of how to best integrate the successful ideas into our own system while ridding ourselves of the excess and ineffective fat." Harry stated.

"Are all your books like this?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Mm – most, I suppose. But not all of them. I've got a couple journals filled with fiction, actually, but I'm terrible at finishing anything like that. I'm bad at finding effective endings and bringing things to a conclusion. I always end up just going on and on until the story gets lost and the whole thing falls apart."

"You write _fiction?"_ Hermione exclaimed sounding far more surprised by this than the other, and amusing Harry some.

"Yeah. Don't know if it's really any good though. Most of what I write is non-fiction though. Research papers, essays and treatises. But some of the things I've written ended up long enough to legitimately qualify as full-fledged chaptered textbooks. Those obviously require more research, of course. They're fully annotated and my sources are recorded in the back," Harry said as he reached over and flipped the journal she had in front of her a fair distance into the book and then a few individual pages until he got to the references section.

She skimmed through it, still looking thoroughly shocked.

"This is really professionally done," she said, gaping down at the book. "You would never guess that a twelve year old wrote this!" She looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "Are you going to try and get any of these published?"

He shrugged. "Maybe someday. But like you said – people would never believe that a twelve-year-old could write these up. No one would really take me seriously at this point either."

"They would if they read it," she said, as if that were obvious.

"Hermione, you've had a chance to read – what? Five pages?" Harry said in amusement.

"I got to thirteen, actually," she said, tilting her chin up haughtily and making Harry chuckle.

"Fine. Thirteen. That's still not enough for you to know if it's really any good."

"Fine, fine," she conceded looking annoyed. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Anyway, if you're afraid of no one wanting to publish it or taking you seriously, maybe you could try publishing it under a penname."

Harry hummed and shrugged. "I could try submitting some of the shorter essays to various magical journals under a penname."

"Yes! See, that's perfect!"

"Some of my subjects are a bit controversial though. This one, for example, basically badmouths every magical government system, and their policies, in place in the world right now, and most especially our own Ministry. Certain individuals in high places wouldn't exactly _like it_."

"That certainly shouldn't stop you from publishing it!" she argued instantly. "If anything, it makes it even more important that it gets out there and that people read it – _especially_ if you actually discuss ways that the flaws in the system could be fixed!"

Harry smiled at her fondly. "And that's what actually makes you a Gryffindor, despite your outer Ravenclaw Shell. Your steal conviction and determination to stick to your values. Right and wrong are so clean cut for Gryffindors. If it's the right thing to do, then it's worth any and all sacrifices, so long as you stand up for _what's right_, and stick to your guns."

"That's an overly simplified generalization," Hermione argued with a disgruntled frown, and going slightly pink in the cheeks.

"Perhaps. But we live in a world built on stereotypes and neither of us can escape from them."

"You would know that better than anyone," Hermione said with a frustrated sigh. It had bothered her for some time now just how fervently her housemates were determined to hate Harry. Harry had already caught her on several occasions defending him to her fellows in gold and red because they had said something disparaging about him. She would point out that he never picked on anyone in the other houses, and that he never even raised his hand in classes – he only ever answered questions when he was called on, so accusing him of being a show-off was stupid. She argued that he was smart and well read, and polite, and that he wasn't a bigot like Malfoy or the others. Harry had even heard her tell Ron about how Harry had hexed Pansy Parkinson for saying 'mudblood', but Ron hadn't wanted to hear or believe it.

Harry really didn't care at all, but Hermione was _constantly_ bothered by it. She didn't think it was 'right' for him to be judged so harshly, and be at the end of so much of their anger and vitriol when she didn't think he'd done a single thing to warrant or deserve any of it.

It was one of her crusades, and Harry couldn't help but give her a fond smile whenever it came up, even if he thought she was wasting her efforts.

At least she hadn't discovered house elves yet. He wasn't sure he was ready for _that_ crusade yet.

They discussed his writing a bit further with Hermione continuing her insistence that he let some other people read his work and seriously consider seeking publication and with Harry appeasing her with promises of 'thinking about it'. He allowed her to borrow that one journal and she had gushed appreciatively over that, promising that she would take good care of it and get it back to him right away, since the end of term was only two weeks away.

Harry was honestly surprised that she'd be willing to spare any of her brain capacity on something that wasn't revising for exams, but didn't voice his thoughts for fear of the revision monster rearing it's ugly head at him again.

They left the library, going their separate ways, and Harry made his way back down towards the Slytherin common room.

"Potter," Snape's voice caught him and Harry paused in his trek to find the Potions Master exiting out of his storeroom. "We need to talk."

Harry nodded and followed his head of house to his office where privacy wards were quickly cast and the two took seats.

Harry sat and waited patiently for the other wizard to begin.

"The headmaster will be calling you to his office tomorrow," Snape began and Harry gave no response. He'd been expecting this, honestly.

"Do you know what he intends to discuss?" Harry asked.

"Your summer living arrangements, primarily. He has also gotten word from an Auror stationed at Azkaban who apparently has some loyalty to him that the Death Eaters held there have been very... vocal, the last few months and when the Auror in question finally examined a few of them, he noticed that their Dark Marks have returned to full vibrancy, much as my own has. Of course, Dumbledore wished to see mine after having heard this and was then quite curious why I had not bothered to mention to him just how strong it has become."

Harry winced in sympathy. "That had to be an awkward conversation."

"I am more than competent enough to handle such things," Snape snapped as if he were offended by the mere suggestion that he _couldn't_ handle something like that. Harry bowed his head in apology.

"Of course I was able to honestly tell him that I had not been called to the Dark Lord's side, and aside from the magic within the Mark being far stronger than it has been in a decade, there has been no other activity worth noting. This did not quell his nerves, however. He is convinced that the Dark Lord must be back and simply rebuilding his strength or biding his time before calling us to him. Dumbledore has expressed his concern for your safety over the summer should you be left to your own devices as you were last summer. But more than that, he is growing increasingly worried that you are not going to feel inclined to do anything about the Dark Lord when he does finally make an appearance out in the open. He did not express to me any specific plans he might have, but I am sure that he has _something_ up his sleeve."

Harry hummed and nodded his head. "Well, it's certainly not anything I wasn't already anticipating. I'll just have to play it by ear and see how he tries to approach me when he calls me up to his office. Thanks for the heads up, though."

Snape nodded and a moment later Harry was leaving the man's office.

– –

_It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

As Snape had predicted, Harry received a small note passed on via a fourth year Hufflepuff, the following afternoon. It requested that he come to the Headmaster's office at seven o'clock, along with a post script noting Dumbledore's fondness for liquorish wands. Harry arrived right on time, gave the password to the gargoyle and rode the spiraling staircase up to the large heavy wooden door to the Headmaster's office.

He didn't bother to knock. By the time Harry reached the top, Dumbledore had called him inside. Harry kept his face completely impassive as he entered the cluttered ornate office. He didn't let his eyes travel across the many trinkets and contraptions, nor did he spare a glance at the man's phoenix. Harry wasn't sure what to expect from Fawkes, if he were honest. In the last two lives Harry had lived, the bird had never taken quite the same liking to him as he had in Harry's early lives. Harry rather suspected the bird would down right hate him this time.

"You wished to speak with me, Headmaster?" Harry asked calmly, standing by the man's desk.

"Yes, please do sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said, indicating the plush armchair beside him and taking his own seat behind his desk. "Lemon Sherbet?" Dumbledore asked, holding up a small crystal bowel filled with the sour candies.

"No thank you, sir," Harry said without even bothering to look at them, while he took his seat.

"Pity," Dumbledore said with a simple smile as he set the bowel back down. "How has your second year at Hogwarts been, hmm? Not too under-challenged, I hope?"

"I'm keeping myself sufficiently busy, even if my classes are not," Harry replied in a bored tone.

"I've noticed you seem to have struck up a friendship with Hermione Granger this year," Dumbledore observed, looking secretly very pleased by this, if the sparkle of hope in his blue eyes were anything to go by.

"She initially approached me with an offer to be my potions partner, since she felt I was often carrying most of the burden whenever I worked in a group situation. I pointed out that the same thing was actually happening to her, and she then pointed out that meant we would both benefit from the arrangement. I couldn't exactly say she was wrong."

"Ah, yes, such things do happen when certain students show themselves to be academically exceptional. Others take it as an opportunity to remove the burden from their own shoulders and let it fall instead upon the shoulders of the person they see as more capable."

"But that is hardly fair, is it sir?" Harry asked slyly. "It only allows others to believe they have an excuse to be lazy or to hide from shared responsibility. When people are allowed to entertain the notion that _someone else_ will do it, then they no longer acknowledge the reality that they themselves are just as responsible for whatever needs doing. If too many people stand back and say 'but there's this someone else who is just _so much more qualified_ to deal with the problem' then everyone just stands back and does nothing. But what happens if that 'more qualified' person, also happens to believe that there are others who are more qualified? Or what if they've already got too much on their plates because of all these stranger's expectations and can't make room for more? Or if there simply _isn't_ someone more qualified. Then nothing gets done, just because the masses took the easy way out."

"I suspect we are no longer truly talking about our original subject," Dumbledore observed, eyeing Harry cautiously.

"That's really up to you to decide, Headmaster. Do you know what Bystander Apathy is?"

"I'm not familiar with the term, no."

"It's not exactly the same as what I was just discussing, but it is along the same lines. It's also known as the Genovese syndrome by muggle psychologists. It is the social psychological phenomenon that refers to cases where people will not offer any means of help in an emergency situation to the victim, when there is a large number of other people present. In fact, the _more_ people that are present, the less likely it is that any one of them will intervene and help the injured party. It is a result of everyone present assuming that _someone else_ will help, so they don't need to – or that it's none of their business. There are plenty of other people present – surely one of them is more qualified to help? But when _everyone_ thinks that, no one helps.

"Along similar lines, if something is horribly wrong with a system, or maybe there's some sort of feud going on, or the government is corrupt, or an individual is being singled out inappropriately and mistreated – anything really – and lots of people all seem to 'know' that this something is wrong and horrible, but no one does anything. Everyone assumes that there is someone else out there that is in a better position to help – so _many_ people know that this is a problem so _surely_ there is someone out there doing something about it. That there are other people who are responsible for fixing the thing that's wrong and that it's simply none of their business, or they simply wouldn't be able to do anything.

"But what if there's no one who can actually fix it? Or simply, that no one who might have been able to do it, ever stood up and did something?"

Dumbledore's eyes lit up with something akin to hope.

"Ah, yes. Yes, that is truly a travesty," he said, nodding his head gravely.

"Are you being apathetic, Headmaster?" Harry asked rather bluntly and Dumbledore looked taken aback and confused by the question.

"I'm sorry? I'm not sure –"

"You expect me to fix your problem, and thus, you are not taking the necessary actions to correct it yourself. If you want Voldemort dead, you're going to have to do it yourself. Stop pinning all of your hopes and dreams on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old boy. It's unfair and unreasonable. Do you honestly think that I'm more qualified to do the deed than you are? Why? Because of some two-bit hack trying to impress you while interviewing for a divination job? Are you really that stupid? You've had more than a decade to get to know Sybill Trelawney. Has she ever, _even once, _since that first interview, ever given another 'real' prophecy? I don't care how convincing she was, or how many of the words seem to make more sense now in hindsight, while others still seem like nonsense – I still wouldn't allow all of my plans be built upon such a weak, questionable foundation."

Dumbledore was staring at him in silent shock.

"Tell me, Headmaster –" Harry pressed on, not giving the man a chance to gather his thoughts and interrupt with questions, "– which would be a better use of your time, and the time of your associates? Preparing for a war you fully expect to come, or running around trying to keep track of a twelve-year-old boy who, outside of appearing to be something of a prodigy, has given you absolutely no reason to believe he will be your secret weapon? Because I won't. I will not be anyone else's weapon. And I will not tolerate you sending your associates to stake out my flat this summer. If I catch even one of them, I'm going abroad for my summer holidays and you won't see me again until September 1st."

"Harry, wait now. You clearly seem to be under some misconceptions. I'm not sure where you got your information, but –"

"Don't lie to me, Headmaster. I'll know if you do it. I'll know, and I'll never trust you again, with anything," Harry cut him off sharply.

Dumbledore paused abruptly, eyeing Harry with wary eyes, as if he were wondering suddenly, for the first time, if maybe – _just maybe_, Harry really_ would_ know, if he were lying to him.

He closed his mouth and observed Harry for a moment. Dumbledore's bushy white brows were pulled down and furrowed deeply with worry. "How do you know about Professor Trelawney's prediction?" he asked finally.

"It's on file at the Department of Mysteries. It, being placed there under my name, is accessible to me to view whenever I like."

Dumbledore's brows raised into his lined forehead. "You know what the prophecy says, then?"

"I do. I also think it's rubbish. It's just like any prophecy where you can look at bits in hindsight and try to find meaning and say it was destined fate! But it's really just your interpretation. Picking out the bits you like while saying the ones that still make no sense just haven't come to pass yet, or you haven't yet seen something that would put it in context."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," Dumbledore said, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair to observe Harry. "The prophecy says that you have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort. I assume from what you've said that you are aware that he is not truly dead?"

"Judging by how desperate you've been to find me, keep track of me, and stay on my good side, it was obvious that you were still expecting to need something from me."

Dumbledore nodded hesitantly. "You are clearly a very powerful wizard, Harry. You are a prodigy among your classmates. You – "

"But you don't think that any of that will be important, do you?" Harry said, cutting him off. "Voldemort was a prodigy as well. I rather suspect he had quite a bit more power than I do, when he was my age, even. Me being smart or magically powerful isn't something that would give me any special advantage. If all it took was intelligence and magical power, then there would be nothing stopping _you_ from doing the deed yourself, and yet you seem to be under the impression that that isn't possible."

"I... do believe that it will take more than intelligence and power, yes," Dumbledore conceded.

"Then find out what it'll take," Harry said airily. "Anyone with the motive and initiative could work on doing that. Do you somehow think that my destined role in all this is to do research into what sort of Dark Arts the Dark Lord might have used to protect himself from death? Do you believe _that's_ my role in all this? That I'm supposed to find out his weakness?"

Harry let the question hang in the air for a minute.

"I suppose one could suggest something along those lines," Dumbledore said hesitantly. "You certainly seem well versed in the arts of research, and you may have access to certain tomes that even I myself would have trouble finding. However, I would strongly prefer it if you were not exposed to such awful books, so no Harry – I do not expect that of you."

"Good, because I'm not doing it," Harry said shortly, cocking a single eyebrow as if daring the man to argue.

"It does not bother you at all? That Lord Voldemort could be out there? That he could try to come back and begin to wreak havoc and misery upon wizarding Britain once again? That _other_ children could lose their parents to him, as well?"

"No." Harry said flatly and Dumbledore's face seemed to crumple and his shoulder's slumped.

"Harry..."

"I get that you're old, and that you already had to defeat one Dark Lord," Harry said, his tone softer now than before, "and you're hoping to pass the baton on to the next generation – the next hero to be the beacon of hope for the apathetic masses who prefer the safety of huddling in their homes, hoping that someone else is going to stand up and protect them. You were hoping that beacon would be me. It won't be," he said, his voice going hard again. "I'm telling you, straight up, right now. It won't be me. Find someone else to rest all of your hopes and dreams on. If you keep hoping that I'll turn around and change my mind, you're only going to die disappointed."

"But Harry – _please_ listen to reason. You –"

"You don't know me. You don't know what I've lived through. You don't know my reasons or my motives for making the choices I've made. And you're not going to know either because I have no intention of sharing my secrets with you. Certainly not yet, at least. But my mind is set. My reasons and my conviction to stick to my decision is solid. I know that you were hoping to bring me up here today and convince me into allowing you to protect me over the summer. Watch me, train me, perhaps? I don't know. Maybe you were going to try and talk me into staying with some family you trust and that would smother me with affection so I'd form emotional attachments and finally understand the value of _love _and find a reason deep within myself to want to _protect _this new wonderful warm and fuzzy way of life," Harry chuckled and shook his head sadly. "It's not going to happen.

"I'm going to leave this school on the train with the rest of the students, and be on my merry way for the two month holiday. I'm just another student. That's all I am to you now. I'm not the fated savior that you're going to rest all of your hopes on. As far as you should be concerned, there is no prophecy. Even if the thing were legitimate; I'm defying the prophecy. I refuse."

"But _why?_" Dumbledore asked with desperation and confusion in his voice as he leaned over his desk, closer to Harry.

"Because I don't want to," Harry bit out in annoyance. "It's my life to do with as I see fit. If I decide to move to New Zealand and take up an apprenticeship and work on gaining a Mastery in spell creation, that's going to be my prerogative. You're getting all antsy with the expectation that Voldemort _might_ come back, and that when he does, he _might_ start up his war again, and things _might_ get bloody and awful,and wizarding Britain _might_ need someone to save them from him. But even if all this does come to pass, a war is never won by a single person. In what world is it logical to conclude that some theoretical future war is going to rest fully on the shoulders of one young boy? That's just stupid, insulting, and irresponsible on your part. Your whole plan relies on my being willing to sacrifice myself for your cause. Well guess what? I'm not willing. Come up with a new plan. Are we done here?" Harry finished with blunt coldness.

Dumbledore's gaze was no longer worried, confused, or defeated. He looked rather pissed off, actually, and Harry felt a small thrill course through him. Would the man try something? He rather doubted it, but who knew? He almost hoped he did, except that if he had to make a run for it, he'd have to hope that Draco would protect his stuff and be able to bring it to him later.

"If that is your choice, then I suppose I have to accept it," Dumbledore said coldly, and stood from his chair. Harry stood as well and waited, watching closely for any sign that the man might go for his wand, but he didn't. Harry gave the man a curt nod and quickly walked out the door and back down the stairs.

– –


	8. Chapter 8

– –

Harry didn't hear from Dumbledore again for the remainder of the school year. Exams were easy, of course, and Harry was soon packing up all of his belongings into his trunks and riding in one of the Thestral-drawn carriages with his housemates, to the Hogwarts Express.

He'd made arrangements to rent a muggle flat again. He'd used the protean-charmed notebook to inform Voldemort of his plans to live in London and asking if the man wanted him to visit at all over the summer, but Voldemort had not replied so Harry went forward with his normal plans instead.

Over the last week of June and first three weeks of July, Harry remained blissfully isolated from the rest of the world. He slept in; lazed around the house; chatted with Jörmy, with his neighbor, with the lady that owned the market down the road; and took walks to a near by park. He never saw any signs of the Order having tracked him down, or making any attempts at watching him. He didn't even hear from Snape... until a letter showed up one week before his birthday that included a newspaper clipping about Mass Murderer Sirius Black having escaped from Azkaban.

Harry had blinked at it for a solid minute before he groaned miserably and let his head fall forward onto his dining table, beside his glass of orange juice and the letter laying there.

It really was amazing how much he could change and yet certain things would remain the same. But then again, he supposed that his actions really wouldn't have had much of any effect on the Weasley parents' decision to enter that sweepstake, nor would his actions have effected the chances of them winning or not. So they'd still probably gone to Egypt; still gotten their picture taken in the Prophet, including 'Scabbers' on Ron's shoulder, and Fudge had still had that particular newspaper with him during his yearly inspection of Azkaban prison.

So Sirius had escaped again, intent on tracking down Peter Pettigrew and exacting his revenge. Harry honestly had no opinion on any of that. He was tired of saving Sirius again and again. Tired of catching Peter to try and clear Sirius. Tired of just _killing _Peter. Tired of _caring_ about any of that. He had known when he set himself down the path of allying with Voldemort, that he would have to give up on any hopes being on the same side as Sirius. The simple fact was that Sirius would just _never_ _ever_ be okay with Harry doing so. So he had committed himself to just _not caring_. He would stay away from the whole Sirius issue all together. Or at least – he would try.

Sirius escaping wasn't even something that bothered him – he could still just _not get involved_ – the problem was that this meant there would probably be dementors around Hogwarts all bloody year long, and _that_ sucked.

It also made him wonder if Minister Fudge would suddenly take an interest in where Harry was during the summer, and come to realize that Harry was _not_ with anyone at all. He knew that Dumbledore had been keeping all of that secret from the Minister, but Dumbledore would probably stop any assistance in that regard. Not that he had been doing it before just for Harry's sake. More likely, he'd been doing it to cover up his own ineptitude on handling Harry's living situation since he had fought so bloody hard to be the one in control of it. If he admitted that Harry was living on his own right now, he'd also have to admit that Harry had been missing for a full decade, and he'd never told anyone in the Ministry a thing.

So maybe Dumbledore would still work on keeping it secret. Harry supposed only time would tell.

– –

He got gifts from Hermione, Draco, and Pansy for his birthday. The fact that _Pansy_ had sent him a gift – although it was just a box of cauldron cakes, but _still_ – was really quite amusing, if not slightly disturbing. Draco thought it was hilarious. Hermione had given him a guide to getting published and included a big list of different wizarding publishing companies.

She hadn't yet stopped pestering him about his books, and had also asked that he let her read some of his others. He hadn't yet, but he was considering it.

August passed without anything else noteworthy happening. The Minister never came knocking to make sure he was safe from the evil Sirius Black so Harry figured that Dumbledore was still insisting that Harry was being kept 'safe' and it was better if his location stayed secret.

Harry had continued to write in his protean-charmed book to Voldemort the whole summer – even if only sparingly – and would probably have thought Voldemort wasn't even bothering to check the thing at all except for the two or three brief questions he'd written back. Harry had stepped outside his normal ramblings only once with the man. It was a week or so after he'd been alerted to Sirius having escaped when the thought occurred to him that Pettigrew was a marked Death Eater who wasn't in prison and wasn't a publicly known figure, and therefore, could vanish without drawing real attention.

So he'd told the man about Pettigrew's location in case he needed a man servant or errand boy – or spy. The whole rat thing _was_ a handy talent. While he was at it, he told Voldemort about Barty Crouch Jr. under Imperius in his father's basement too. Voldemort never wrote anything back on the matter though, so Harry considered it closed.

August finally drew to a close as well and Harry mourned the passing of his care-free summer as he canceled his lease, put his stuff back in storage, and went to King's Cross station on the morning of September the first.

He picked a car near the back, climbed up the small metal bit of stairs and began making his way down the aisle, peering into each compartment as he went. Full; full; full – Lupin. He found himself pausing at the compartment where a seemingly asleep Remus Lupin was hunched into one corner, and despite his better judgment, found himself going in.

One of his trunks was shrunk down and stowed inside his other trunk, so he was only burdened down with one to haul around. He levitated it into the overhead rack and took the seat directly opposite Lupin before pulling out one of his books and continued writing where he'd left off.

– –

_A man's own actions, will from the start give him such a name that it will require a long course of opposite conduct to destroy it. Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

"There you are!"

Harry looked up from his journal to find Draco standing with an annoyed look on his face, from the partially open door to the compartment. "I've been looking all over the ruddy train for you!"

"I've been right here," Harry said with an unapologetic smirk, that earned him an even _more_ annoyed arched eyebrow from Draco.

"Did you find him?" came a familiar, nasally voice from somewhere further down the train car's aisle.

Harry groaned quietly, but Draco heard it because he looked back at Harry with triumphant amusement and smirked widely as he called over his shoulder. "I found him, Pansy dear. He's over here."

A moment later, Pansy's face appeared next to Draco as she peered into the compartment and then positively beamed.

"Harry-_darling!_ I missed you so much! How was your summer? Did you go anywhere interesting?" she began to ramble, gushingly, as she pushed passed Draco and came over to sit next to Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes and followed her inside. He hesitated to sit next to Lupin, eyeing the man over and grimacing in distaste at his shabby appearance and threadbare clothes.

"Whose this?" he asked, jerking his head towards the seemingly asleep man.

"The new Defense professor," Harry replied absently. "His names Lupin. He was in the same year as Snape. Different house, of course."

Harry could swear he saw Lupin's face twitch, and he had to fight the urge to snort with amusement.

"Different house?" Draco echoed, looking even more derisive at the man beside him than before. "What was he then?"

"Gryffindor," Harry replied simply.

Draco's sneer grew several fold and he scrunched up his nose as if he'd just encountered a bad smell.

"Why don't we go back to my compartment? Let the – professor, get his rest?"

"Oh yes, Harry-_darling_. All of the others are over in Draco's compartment already," Pansy added.

"I'd rather not, honestly," Harry said airily, turning his main focus back to his journal. "I was sort of in the middle of something, and I was enjoying the peace and quiet. I don't much feel like dealing with a crowd at the moment."

Pansy's lower lip instantly stuck out in an over-exaggerated pout and she began to whine, but was cut off by the sudden jerking and slowing of the train. Draco frowned and looked around as the lights flickered. "There's no way we're there yet. It's too early."

Harry closed his book and set it beside him on the bench while slowly pulling out his wand. The train jerked to a complete stop and Draco stood up and slid the compartment door open and began looking down the corridor. "What the devil is wrong with this stupid train?" he grumbled in annoyance.

"Draco, come back into the compartment and close the door," Harry said in a quiet tone that still managed to sound quite demanding. Draco turned around and looked at him with some incredulity and confusion etching its way across his face, but he still did as he was told.

Pansy began running her hands up and down her upper arms, and as she breathed out, puffs of mist escaped her lips. Draco noticed this and blew out some air of his own, experiencing the same thing.

"Why is it so _cold?_" Pansy whined fearfully.

"Harry – what's going on?" Draco asked, looking right at Harry with fear in his eyes.

"Dementors," Harry whispered and slowly stood from his seat and faced the door.

"D-d-d–" Draco stuttered, suddenly gaping. He cut himself off as a sound emerged from the direction of the door and his head swung around to look. Harry stepped forward and Draco scooted further down the bench, leaning right into Lupin's side and not caring one bit that he was touching the shabby wizard. Harry put himself between Draco, and Pansy, and the door, just as a withered, dead and slimy-looking hand pulled the sliding door open enough to slip around it and pull it open the rest of the way.

Draco let out a horrified, disgusted, whimper and Pansy screamed as the hooded creature made to push its way into their compartment, but Harry just raised his wand right in it's face.

He said nothing aloud, but a white funnel-shaped mist emerged from his wand, expanding outwards and forming something of a shield. It pushed the Dementor right back out of the compartment and against the opposite wall before dissipating. The Dementor made a sound something like an angry shriek before turning and flying down the corridor.

Harry reached forward, calmly slid the door shut again, before turning and sitting back down.

Lupin was clearly wide awake now, sitting upright, and staring right at Harry with shock in his eyes.

"That was a non-verbal patronus," he said in a disbelieving whisper.

Harry cocked a single eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Oh, Harry! That was incredible!" Pansy suddenly gushed, looking both panicked and terribly relieved.

Draco was also clearly shaken, but he was suddenly aware of his proximity to the professor and nearly shot across the bench to the other side. He pulled himself together and looked to Harry. "Was that really a Dementor? What the devil was it doing here! Are they completely mental! That thing could have killed any of us! It – it – it could have _kissed _us! We'd lose our souls!"

Pansy's face paled again and she made a horrified squeaking sound.

"My Father is going to hear about this!" Draco proclaimed dramatically, flushing with anger to cover up how scared he'd been. All the while, Lupin never took his penetrating gaze off of Harry, and Harry never said a word.

– –

_Men rise from one ambition to another; first they seek to secure themselves from attack, then they attack others. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Lucius Malfoy made a huge stink during the next few weeks over the Dementors being allowed anywhere _near_ students – and worst of all, _his son_. The fact that a Ministry-authorized dementor had 'attacked' not only Draco Malfoy, but _Harry Potter_ on the Hogwarts Express was deemed news worthy, and was considered an atrocity within days. The Minister quickly backed off with his rather desperate man hunt for Sirius Black, in so much as he forbade the Dementors from setting one foot – or _whatever they had – _within the grounds of Hogwarts.

Fudge was also forced to do some public damage control – which he never liked – insisting that he was going to all this trouble to protect the students and _especially_ Harry Potter, from the threat of Sirius Black, and certainly never intended to endanger them.

It hadn't taken very long at all once they were all back at Hogwarts for Draco to pull Harry aside with a worried expression on his face, and ask him if he _knew_ about Sirius Black. Harry had almost felt touched by the boy's concern for him – but mostly he found it mildly amusing. Or ironic, or something like that. In any case, he assured Draco that he did, in fact, know all about Sirius Black and what he had supposedly done all those years ago, and _no_ he wasn't going to run off and do something ridiculous like try to hunt the man down to exact revenge. _ 'Surely you know me better than that, Draco,'_ Harry had said with a hint of amusement shining in his eyes, causing the other boy to flush and sputter for a moment.

The days quickly began to pass, just like any other year. Harry still took Jörmy with him fairly often to classes and by this point no one really cared anymore – although the first years _did_ tend to be rather terrified of him in the halls, and Lupin had been stunned speechless the first time he'd witnessed Harry speaking to the tiny snake.

Hermione was once again keeping him company in the library as often as she found Harry there by himself, and partnering with him just about every-other lesson in Potions.

As far as Harry could tell, she was something of a pariah in Gryffindor house for it, but she would just snub her nose at the rest of them, convinced she was being righteous in her defense of the Slytherin boy who had never done anything to earn her housemates scorn. For her surprising loyalty, Harry had allowed her to borrow another one of his journal-books to read. This one was the rather in-depth study he'd done on various banned magics, which he said was a direct extension of his arguments against excessive corruption, and the need for transparency in government.

She said it was fascinating and once again began to hound him to get it published_._

Harry had signed up for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and as such, was not present when Draco had his run-in with Buckbeak. Harry was a bit confused as to how it had managed to happen at all, given that Harry hadn't been there to inspire the blond to show off and be disrespectful of the hippogriff, but apparently, Draco was just destined to piss it off, because he still managed to get himself scratched by the hippogriff.

Draco had only just gotten on the Quidditch team in third year, instead of doing it in second year as he had the first three lives Harry had lived. Of course, in all three of those lives, Harry had repeated his efforts and gotten onto the Quidditch team of whatever house he was in that time around, and Draco had somehow always managed to peg himself as a rival of sorts with Harry, no matter what he'd changed those first few goes. Of course, Harry figured, it was also partially his own doing since, back then, he'd held quite a bit of animosity for the boy still.

Of course, in later lives, Harry had lost his taste for playing Quidditch – he'd still enjoyed it from time to time, but not enough to warrant being on the house teams – and had stopped getting himself on the teams all together. Without the inspiration of a first or second year Harry Potter having made it onto _his_ quidditch team, Draco had felt less inclined to pitch a fit and have daddy bribe his way onto the team with a load of brooms.

Higgs had been the seeker for Slytherin during he and Harry's first and second years, but Higgs had graduated last year, now leaving the Seeker spot open, and Draco had jumped on it.

But now, of course, he was 'injured' and milking it for all it was worth, so long as he was outside of the Slytherin common room.

As the day for the first Quidditch game of the season approached, the Slytherin team saw another advantage that they could gain for themselves in regards to Draco's 'injury'. The weather was absolutely abysmal, and on the day of the actual match, you couldn't possibly imagine a worse day for Quidditch. So the Slytherin team insisted that their Seeker was still recovering from an injury and that they couldn't play, so they switched with Hufflepuff.

Harry didn't bother going to the game, of course. He never went to Quidditch games anymore, although he feared that Draco would start whining like mad if Harry skipped the Slytherin matches from here on out, now that he was on the team. Draco and the rest of the Slytherins _had_ gone to the match, just so that they could sit under water-blocking, and warming charms, and watch the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs suffer in their stead.

When they came back after the game, they were a roar of excitement, shock, and carefully concealed horror. It turned out that the Dementors had attacked during the match, even though Harry hadn't been up there.

One of the Hufflepuff chasers had ended up falling off his broom and ended up with a broken leg. A number of the older team members were showing subtle signs of appreciation for Draco's excuse to stay out of the game. Draco actually looked mildly shaken.

Harry just returned to the dorm room and his work.

– –

_An act of humanity and benevolence will at all times have more influence over the minds of men than violence and ferocity... and cities which no armies and no engines of war, nor any other efforts of human power, could conquer, have yielded to an act of humanity, benevolence, chastity, or generosity. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

October passed and before Harry knew it, it was once again Samhain – and Halloween. He skipped the feast, as was par for the course, and remained behind in their dorm room to perform the Calling of the Dead ritual. Only Draco accompanied him this time while the rest of their dorm mates opted to go to the feast and gorge on sweets instead. The following day the school was in a tizzy because during the feast Sirius Black had snuck into the school and attacked the portrait guarding the Gryffindor Common Room when she refused to let him inside.

This bewildered a lot of people though, and some expressed their wonder if perhaps Sirius Black was somehow unaware that Harry Potter was actually a Slytherin.

Harry had snorted and shaken his head in amusement, but not taken his eyes off the book in his lap, as he overheard this from a group of Slytherins gathered in the common room. This had, of course, drawn their attention.

"You think it's funny that he's assuming you're a Gryffindor?" a fourth year asked and Harry looked up at the group through his fringe.

"No, I think he's probably perfectly aware – or maybe, he just doesn't _care_ – that I'm in Slytherin. Even after Black attacks the _Gryffindor_ guardian while trying to break into _Gryffindor _Common Room_,_ everyone just assumes that Black must just not realize I'm a Slytherin, and _he_ made a mistake. No one even considers the fact that maybe _I'm not the one he's after."_

The group stared at Harry with apparent surprise, because none of them had apparently considered this possibility.

"Well, if he's not after you... then who's he after?" one of the fifth years asked, twisting up his face.

Harry just shrugged and turned his focus back on his book. The others eventually gave up, knowing that once Harry opted to ignore you, you were ignored, but Draco never removed his calculating gaze from Harry.

The following day was the first Hogsmeade visit and Harry got permission from Snape to go down, even though he had no guardian to sign his permission slip. McGonagall had looked decidedly put out by this, but since Harry wasn't in her house, she didn't have much say over the matter. Snape did tell Harry that the other teachers – Minerva and Lupin, especially – were concerned for his safety if he left the castle and it's wards. Snape had apparently pointed out to them that being in the castle didn't seem to mean much of anything at all since Black had clearly been able to get inside, despite the 'wards' and other such protections.

Harry would not admit it, even to himself, but he had been watching Ron, and more specifically, _Scabbers_, for the previous two months of term. He didn't want to. He didn't want to care _at all_. But he couldn't quite stop himself from thinking about the stupid rat.

He'd been down in Hogsmeade for a couple of hours along with a group of other third year Slytherins when he looked down the road and saw Ron standing out front of a pet supply store, holding Scabbers in one hand and looking at a display in the window. Harry figured the 'rat' was probably rather sickly lately, what with all the stress over Sirius being after him. Harry hadn't even realized he'd been staring when Draco nudged him in the ribs and gave him a questioning look.

Harry looked at Draco for several moments in silence before looking back down the road at Weasley and coming to a decision.

"I must be bloody mental," he huffed under his breath and scowling in annoyance at his own traitorous mind as he began to stride down the road. Draco just looked completely bewildered, but trailed after him.

"Harry – what –?" Draco began, but Harry held up a hand over his shoulder, silencing the blond and pressed forward. As soon as Ron saw him approaching, his stance became defensive and he eyed Harry with considerable wariness.

"What do you want, Potter?" Ron asked, taking a step back and finding his back pressing against the store front.

"I want to buy your rat," Harry said stiffly.

Ron blanched and reached up to put both hands around the fat old rat and holding it to his chest tighter. Harry was actually grateful for this, because the rat was suddenly _very tense_ looking.

"Whut? What for?" Ron asked, defensively.

"That's _my_ business – isn't it?" Harry replied curtly. "I'll give you fifteen galleons for him. That's enough for you to buy yourself a new wand from the local Ollivander's branch _and_ an owl."

Ron _really_ blanched now; openly gaping with disbelief.

"Harry, are you mental?" Draco exclaimed from behind him. "Fifteen galleons for some ruddy old rat that looks about to die?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and pinned Draco with a _look_ that made him flinch, and instantly shut up.

He looked back at Ron and cocked a single eyebrow. "Well? This is a one-time only offer. Take it or leave it. The thing looks like he won't last past this school year anyway. You'd may as well get something out of him before he finally dies of old age."

Ron looked seriously conflicted, looking from Harry to the rat and back again with obvious wariness.

"Are you gonna hurt him? You don't want him so you can perform some evil ritual or something, do you?" Ron asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Weasley. I'm not going to perform evil rituals on your rat."

"Well, what do you want him for?"

"That's _my_ business," Harry said, coldly.

"Is this... is this like, some way for you to curse _me?_" Ron began to say, accusingly. "You need something that's important to me to use in a – a _Dark potion_ or something, and so you're gonna take my rat?"

Harry closed his eyes, trying to contain his irritation and remain patient. He heaved an annoyed sigh and opened his eyes again. "No, Weasley. I swear that I am not going to dice your rat up and use him as potions ingredients, nor am I taking him to use in some spell or other ritual, to attack or curse you."

"Then, I don't get it! Why do you want Scabbers?"

"The offer is only available for another thirty seconds, Weasley. One rat in exchange for fifteen galleons. _Are – you – interested?_"

Ron's mouth floundered and his eyes once again shot between the rat he was clutching to his chest, and the cold, disinterested looking boy standing opposite him.

"Going... going... gon–"

"OKAY!" Ron yelled in an almost panic. He grimaced and looked back down at the rat. "You promise you won't hurt him?"

"I promise that _I _won't hurt him," Harry said and Draco arched a single brow and looked over at Harry with a curious smirk, obviously wondering what the heck Harry was up to.

Ron looked miserable and focused on his rat while he apologized, said goodbye, and pet the rat's back. Just as he was doing this, Scabbers bit him, Ron yelped, dropped the rat, and said rat, began to bolt.

Harry, having expected this, had his wand out and the rat stunned before it could get more than three feet from them.

"Hey!" Ron yelled. "You said you wouldn't hurt him!"

"And I didn't. I stunned him. If he'd gotten away, you wouldn't have gotten any money."

Ron flushed, grimaced again and nodded as he went over and picked up the unconscious rat.

"Right..."

Harry dug out his money pouch and handed over fifteen, shiny and heavy, gold galleons. Ron looked at the money with an awed expression and after one more regretful frown, said one last goodbye to his rat. Just as Ron was about to turn away he paused, frowned more deeply and turned back to Harry.

"What made you suggest I get a _wand?_" he asked, somewhat incredulously.

Harry shrugged, looking bored. "The one you've got right now is a hand-me-down, isn't it? It doesn't work well for you. I can tell it's the reason for your utterly pathetic practical performance in Charms and Transfiguration. You've got a good amount of magic in you and the potential to be a decently powerful wizard. Your problem is that the wand you're using didn't choose you and fights you every time you try to cast a spell. Well – that and you're lazy and would rather play chess than actually bother to read the assigned chapter in preparation for the next day's classes. You'd think that repeated public humiliation would be motivation enough for you to finally bother to crack open your potions text before class, but apparently not."

Ron went red in a flash and sputtered in indignation, while Draco rolled with laughter. Harry turned, now holding his newly acquired rat in hand and left the two without saying another word.

Draco ran to catch up with him a moment later and the two walked down the street together in silence. After they'd passed several stores, Draco finally turned his gaze on Harry. "So what the devil was that all about? Why on earth did you just spend _fifteen galleons_ on a old disgusting _rat?_"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you either, Draco," Harry said as he ducked into a narrow alley and Draco raced to follow.

"_What? Why!_" Draco whined as he watched Harry use his wand to conjure a small wire cage with a handle, dump the rat inside and seal it closed. He pulled the drawstring pouch off his belt, pulled the lip open wide and began digging around inside it with the full length of his arm disappearing inside, despite the fact that it was obviously not big enough to hold even his forearm.

A moment later, Harry's arm pulled back out and he seemed to have something shiny and silvery gripped in his fist. He let it lay over his arm while he re-secured the bag to his belt.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, frowning in confusion at Harry's actions.

Harry heaved a sigh and looked skyward for a moment. "Something incredibly stupid that I promised myself I wouldn't do," he finally said before taking the silvery thing off his arm, flipping it around his shoulders, securing it at his neck and completely occluding him from the neck down. Draco gasped.

"You have an invisibility cloak!"

Harry nodded absently as he bent down and his arm appeared from the opening in the front, picked up the cage and pulled it back inside, making it invisible now as well.

"Even after all this time – I'm still just a stupid, sentimental idiot," Harry was muttering in annoyance under his breath. "You'd think I'd know better. Not a good idea at all. Totally stupid. Shouldn't be doing this."

"Harry, what are you _doing!" _Draco exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Harry reached up and pulled the hood over his face, letting it fall down to completely obscure his face and his hands disappeared back into the cloak a moment later.

"Harry? Harry!"

"I'm going to be fine, Draco. Cover for me, will you?"

"You've gone mental! There's no way I'm covering for you if you aren't even going to tell me what's going on!"

Harry chuckled darkly, but since Harry was invisible, it was just rather eerie. Draco's eyes darted back and forth through the alley trying to figure out if Harry had moved from where he'd been standing a moment earlier.

"Depending on how things go, maybe I'll tell you when I get back. How's that?" Harry's voice said and Draco had to turn because Harry _had_ in fact moved.

"Not good enough, Potter!" Draco exclaimed haughtily, which he rarely did with Harry any more these days. "I want to know what's going on!"

But there was no response.

"Harry? Harry!" Draco growled in annoyance. "Damn it!"

– –

Harry wasn't the least bit surprised to find obvious signs of habitation around the cave that Sirius had occupied sporadically during his fourth year in his first lifetime. Most would see the cave and assume it was being occupied by a wild animal, though, so it wasn't exactly _obvious_. Still... it was obvious.

He had a bubble of silence around himself as he approached the cave, still under his invisibility cloak and still carrying the unconscious rat in a cage. He slipped inside and quickly spotted a slumbering large black dog, towards the back. He was skeletal thin, filthy, and smelled awful. Harry canceled the silence spell and dropped the cage to the floor in a clatter. The 'dog' jerked awake instantly, hackles raised and growling threatening. Harry stepped back, letting the cloak pull back and exposing the cage to view. The 'dog's' growls ended almost instantly, and Harry could see his nose flaring as he searched out the new scent in the cave. Harry reached up and pulled the hood of his cloak back, slowly exposing his face and parting the front to show a sliver of his body.

The 'dog' seemed to gape at him in utter disbelief and astonishment. Harry kept his eyes on the dog, but nodded down towards the cage and gave it kick with his boot. The dog's attention was instantly drawn to the cage.

"He's unconscious. I stunned him," Harry spoke, breaking the silence. He shifted his cloak so that it was pushed over his shoulder and exposing his whole side now. He reached down and pulled his drawstring pouch off his belt and began rummaging around inside it.

The dog seemed torn between rushing forward and staying far away. He moved forward, with slow caution and sniffed at the cage for a moment before starting to growl angrily.

"Do you have a wand?" Harry asked, ignoring the growls and digging around in the pouch. A moment later his hand came out gripping four wands at once. "You can try out these to see if any of them are a close enough match."

The dog's head snapped up and he was once again staring at Harry, slack-jawed and in apparent disbelief.

Harry rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently. "_Obviously_, you'll need to transform back for that."

The dog eyed him warily for a minute before giving a small nod of his head and shifting and morphing back into the form of a man. A very thin, sick, and dirty man.

"You know?" Sirius whispered hoarsely.

"I know," Harry said in a somewhat cold, detached tone.

"H-how much?"

"All of it."

"How?"

Harry just stared at him, his expression blank and distant, not responding in any way.

Sirius looked confused, and his brow was drawn together and lined. Finally he huffed and his eyes drifted down to the hand holding the wands.

"Where did you get those?"

"There's a secret room in Hogwarts that's filled with lost or hidden things. I went searching through there in my first year and tracked down anything that seemed especially useful. Found a few wands while I was at it and kept them."

"A room with hidden things?" Sirius whispered, looking even more confused. "We never found a room with hidden things..."

"The Marauder's discovered a great many of Hogwarts secrets, but not all of them."

Sirius' eyes shot back to Harry's face and he just stared at him for several long minutes, as if he might find something there.

"You're not James."

"No."

"You're Harry."

Harry didn't bother responding to that one.

"You've got James' cloak," Sirius said, again stating the obvious, so Harry only nodded. "And you know... you know I didn't betray them. You know it was Peter," Sirius said, his voice suddenly going hard and angry, and his attention instantly shifted back to the rat.

"Yes. I know. No one else does though. Well... I told Snape you were innocent, but it's not like he's going to be pleading your case any time soon."

"Snivellus?" Sirius sneered with disgust written all over his face. Harry just shrugged, looking totally unrepentant.

"You can do whatever you want with Pettigrew. I don't care. I told myself I wasn't going to get involved in all this, but obviously I failed at that. But this is where I step out. I brought you the rat. Kill him. Don't kill him. Whatever. It's up to you. If you kill him, you'll be on the run forever. They'll never let you rest. You'd be best served getting out of the country and going as far away as you can manage. Go to New Zealand or something. Just get away from all this.

"If you don't kill him... well, you'll want to be careful with who you try approaching because there will be some people in the Ministry who don't _want_ to hear that you've got proof you've been innocent all along. The Minister himself being one of them. He already knows you never got a trial. It's why he's been so desperate to have you caught and kissed on sight.

"He doesn't want it getting out to the public that you were locked up in _Azkaban Prison_ without the foundational right to a trial. Habeus Corpus is a founding principle of our legal system, and it was completely ignored for you, and several others apprehended during the week after Voldemort's disappearance. There was martial law declared at the time, and Crouch took advantage of that to see to swift justice in the case of several individuals with especially powerful family connections that he feared might manage to get their precious heirs off on technicalities.

"The problem for Fudge right now is that if it gets out that this happened to you, people will realize it happened to some others as well, and all involved are from old, pure-blood families that once had much wealth and power. The pure-bloods will be furious to learn that such an injustice was allowed to take place against their _own kind, _and Fudge relies heavily on the campaign contributions of just such families. And thus, he's in a panic. He's convinced you were guilty _anyway_, so what does it matter if he covers the whole thing up? But of course... you're not."

"What do you suggest then?" Sirius rasped hesitantly.

Harry sighed a bit and shrugged. "Amelia Bones is a decent option. She's the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department right now. Rufus Scrimgeour is the Head of the Auror office right now and he'd probably want to seek justice for you as well. He would have the ulterior motive of also intending to run for the post of Minister in another few years and would love a chance to knock Fudge down a peg or two."

Sirius' mouth moved a bit, but he paused and swallowed as if his mouth were too dry, and his voice too unaccustomed to being used. "How would you suggest I try contacting them?"

Harry huffed out in mild annoyance before sighing. "I don't know. Try contacting Remus or something, and ask _him_ for help. Explain to him the whole situation and that you've caught Peter, and he'll be more than eager to beg you to forgive him for not believing in you, and he'll probably even get Dumbledore in on trying to help you. Or, maybe you could just try owling Scrimgeour or Bones on your own using an owl from Hogsmeade. I know you've been locked up with Dementors for over a decade, but surely there's enough of your brain left for you to work some of this out on your own."

"I... I just –"

"Didn't think you'd have the rat delivered right into your lap?" Harry finished for him.

"No. And I thought... I thought when I caught him, I'd just –"

"That you'd just kill him."

Sirius face hardened and his eyes were nearly burning with loathing. "Yes," he hissed out.

"Then do. It's up to you, Sirius. I really don't give a shit. I'm leaving."

"What? Leaving?" Sirius said, jerking up suddenly.

"Yes. Do you have a wand?"

"What?"

"A _wand. _Do you have a wand?"

"Oh – no... no, I don't."

"Then try these and see if one works," Harry said, impatiently.

Sirius's motions were jerky and cautious but slowly he reached forward and tried each of the wands Harry had set out.

"This one," he said hoarsely, holding up one rather gnarled wand that was nearly black in color.

Harry nodded and picked up the remaining wands and stuffed them back into his pouch. "Alright. I'm going."

Harry stood, resetting his pouch and the cloak over his shoulder, leaving only a floating head visible.

"Wait!" Sirius called out as Harry was about to pull the hood over his face. Harry paused and looked at him with bored patience. "I... I'm your godfather."

"I know," Harry said and finished pulling the hood over his head, totally vanishing from sight.

– –

_One change always leaves the way prepared for the introduction of another._

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

"You're back!" Draco exclaimed as Harry re-entered the Slytherin common room some time later. The blond instantly stood from where he'd been sitting in an overstuffed black leather sofa and scurried over to Harry, glaring at him menacing. "I demand you tell me where you went," he said, imperiously.

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment before amusement broke free and he snorted. He sighed almost fondly, shook his head, and walked away without saying a word.

"Harreeeee!" Draco whined as he quickly scurried after him, following him through the corridor and to their dorm room. He continued to whine and, honestly _beg, _Harry to tell him, while Harry dug into his rucksack for a moment and pulled out a scrap of parchment. He opened it, tapped it with his wand and appeared to mutter something under his breath.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" Draco exclaimed in annoyance.

"Just shut up for a minute Draco, and I'll tell you what I was doing," Harry finally said with some level of exasperation.

Draco instantly shut up and came closer. He looked over Harry's shoulder, trying to see what he was looking at, but Harry instantly folded the parchment closed again and began to leave the room.

"_Now _where are you going?" Draco whined again in annoyance.

"Just follow me."

Draco grumbled in frustration but quickly did as he was told and followed Harry out, through the common room, out into the dungeons, and up several flights of stairs. He began whining again after they'd reached the Grand Staircase and began climbing further into the school, but Harry remained silent. He did pause to open the bit of parchment a few times before closing it again. Suddenly, Harry came to a stop, and slipped behind a tapestry that, surprisingly enough, had a corridor behind it that Draco had not known about, and pulled Draco with him.

Harry checked the parchment one more time, and once again Draco tried to get a glimpse of it. It obviously had _something_ on it, and it even looked like stuff was moving, but Harry tapped it with his wand a moment later and said "Mischief Managed." Anything that might have been on the parchment before, vanished, and Draco eyed it suspiciously.

"What –"

"You wanted to know about Weasley's rat, right?" Harry spoke, and his voice was possibly a tad bit louder than was necessarily needed.

Draco was clearly suspicious, but his curiosity was greater. "Yes. I _would_ actually like to know what the deal was with that. Why in Merlin's name would you buy that sick dirty old rat for fifteen galleons? What did you do with it, anyway?"

"That rat wasn't really a rat. It was a wizard. An animagus who could turn himself into a rat."

Draco blanched. "That's mental!"

"No, it's true. His real name is Peter Pettigrew, and he went to school with my father, Professor Lupin, and Sirius Black. They were, all four of them, Gryffindors, and they were best friends. After school, the four of them even joined up with Dumbledore to fight together against the Dark Lord. But towards the end there, it became obvious that someone within their group was a spy because things kept getting leaked. They all thought it was Lupin, but it turns out it was actually Pettigrew."

"Wait – I thought it was Black?" Draco exclaimed, looking confused. Then he frowned. "Wait – isn't Peter Pettigrew the wizard that Black killed?"

"That's just it. Pettigrew isn't dead, and Black wasn't the one who betrayed them all. Everyone thinks it was him because everyone _thought_ that Sirius Black was my parents Secret Keeper, but he wasn't. He was a decoy. Pettigrew was the real Secret Keeper – Sirius insisted on it because he thought he was too obvious a choice. They didn't tell Lupin the truth because he was the one they were suspicious of at the time, so he never knew that they'd switched secret keepers.

"The only person who knew that the Secret Keeper was really Pettigrew were my parents and Sirius Black. After my parents were killed by the Dark Lord, Sirius was enraged and knew that Pettigrew had to have betrayed them, meaning that _he_ was the spy. That's why Sirius Black went after Pettigrew. The thing is that when he found him, before he could say anything, Pettigrew called out to the crowd of muggles, asking _Sirius_ how he could have betrayed James and Lily like that, and publicly accusing _Sirius_ of being the spy. Then he cut off his own finger and let it fall to the ground. Sirius was so angry and shocked that he just stood there like an idiot. Then Pettigrew shot a _bombarda_ at the street, transformed into his rat form, and escaped the rubble, down the sewer. The explosion hit a gas main and a bunch of muggles were killed in the explosion. Black was left, kneeling in the ruined muggle street, laughing and crying, and wailing about how it was all his fault. His fault, because it had been his idea to switch to Peter, and because he hadn't trusted Lupin. He blamed himself, but he wasn't the spy or the traitor. But martial law was declared, and Bartemius Crouch, who was the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, and gunning for the Minister's post, took advantage of that to have Sirius and several other accused Death Eaters, carted off to Azkaban without so much as a trial. Totally ignoring Habeus Corpus, and their fundamental right to a trial by a jury of their peers.

"All the while, Pettigrew ran. When he realized that the Dark Lord had fallen, he was terrified of being discovered, so he stayed in his animagus form, and found himself a wizarding family to live with – namely, the Weasley's. Their middle son, Percy, found the rat in the garden and took him in as a pet because they were poor, and apparently even a rat makes a reasonable pet when you're dirt poor."

Draco snorted out his amusement, but mostly still just looked stunned.

"That's why Black was trying to get into the _Gryffindor_ common room. He really _wasn't_ after you. He was after Weasley's rat!"

"Exactly."

"Wait... so what did you do with him? You obviously don't have the rat with you anymore."

"I took him to Black," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

"What!" Draco squawked. "Are you mental?"

"The only reason that Black is here is because he wants to get Pettigrew and kill him. Or maybe turn him in and prove his innocence. I don't really care. But now that he's got Pettigrew, he's got no real reason to stick around and once he leaves, the Dementors will follow him."

Draco stared at Harry with a somewhat bewildered expression for a moment. "Wait... is that all? The only reason you caught Pettigrew was so that you could get rid of the Dementors?"

Harry just stared at him with blank indifference. "What did you expect? That I was out for revenge and retribution?"

"I – well... that does seem like a reasonable reason... for most people."

"But not for me."

"I... guess not. No," Draco conceded, slowly. "You really don't care?" he asked, skeptically. "I mean... he's the reason the Dark Lord was able to kill your parents. He betrayed your family. That doesn't... make you angry?" Draco asked, curiously.

Harry heaved a slightly annoyed sigh and seemed to look back over his shoulder towards the tapestry blocking the outer corridor from view. "I don't want to talk about this here. Come on. Let's go back to the dorm."

Draco looked rather confused by this, but as Harry turned and pushed the tapestry away, he heard scuffling from the other side and suddenly Harry was speaking.

"Oh – Professor, sorry, I didn't know you were there," he greeted with his usual bored indifference. Draco rushed forward and quickly caught sight of Professor Lupin standing to the side, looking pale. "Good evening," Harry said with a small incline of his head before turning and striding down the corridor as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Draco raced after him, glancing over his shoulder for a moment to see that Lupin was still standing there, gaping in stunned silence.

After they'd descended down a few sets of stairs, Draco rushed close to Harry's side and hissed out, accusingly, "you did that on purpose!"

"Hmm?"

"Lupin. You knew he'd be there. You wanted him to overhear our conversation!"

"Maybe."

"How'd you know he'd be there? What was that parchment you kept looking at?"

"Secret."

"Harreeeee!"

– –


	9. Chapter 9

– –

_Men generally decide upon a middle course, which is most hazardous; for they know neither how to be entirely good or entirely bad. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

November passed quickly after that with no signs or indications of what might have happened with Sirius. Harry didn't know if Sirius had just killed Pettigrew off, or if he'd decided to try and get help and clear his name.

He also told himself that he did not care, and he was being a total a complete idiot, if he did. It was just habit, really. He'd saved Sirius so many times now... it was just weird to try and take a step back and _not_ get involved. The dementors were still lingering around the outskirts of the school's wards, so Sirius was probably still in the area. That didn't tell him for sure which route Sirius had taken. It was possible he'd contacted Remus and-or Dumbledore and was getting assistance from them, and _that_ was the reason he was still lingering around. It was also possible that he'd killed off Pettigrew, but ignored Harry's advice to leave the country and was instead sticking around the school _because of Harry_... which he hoped wasn't the case. In any case, he didn't know, and it was an idiotic waste of his time to worry on it.

So instead, he focused on his other projects, and his school work.

December drew near and the sign-up sheet was posted on the common room notice board for those who would be staying in the castle during the holiday. Harry, having noticed it, went over to add his name to the short list but found himself stopped by Draco.

"I absolutely forbid that you shut yourself up in his drafty old castle again, for one more holiday. It's just outrageous," Draco stated imperiously and began to drag Harry away from the board and down towards their dorm room.

Harry gave him a bemused look and allowed himself to be dragged. "What are you suggesting, Draco?"

"You're going to come home with me," Draco stated as if it were fact and not up for debate at all.

"I'm not exactly sure if you're father would approve of that," Harry hedged, only barely restraining his amusement.

"Nonsense. As a matter of fact, I've already gained his and mother's permission. Mother thought it was a grand idea and agreed that it was outrageous that you be left in the castle during the holidays, especially with the Dementors still roaming about."

Harry arched a single, mildly incredulous, brow at the blond. "You're parents want me to come stay in their home for Yule?"

"Yes, of course. Why is that so hard to comprehend?" Draco exclaimed in exasperation.

"Oh, I don't know, Draco. Maybe because I'm known as the boy who was responsible for the downfall of the Dark Lord, and your parents were sort of fans of his."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and made a sound that came out something like 'Pssshha.' "Don't be so overdramatic. It's not like anyone actually blames you for that. Well, not anyone _reasonable,_ anyway. You were a _baby_. Anyone who could believe that a fifteen month old toddler could intentionally perform some bit of impossible magic that would defeat the most powerful wizard alive, is an idiot."

"Well, _that_ I agree with," Harry said with a tilted nod of his head.

"If anything, it was probably something that your _mother_ did that saved you and destroyed the Dark Lord's body. Don't tell anyone I said that, of course. She being a... er –"

"Muggleborn," Harry supplied, helpfully.

"Yes. It's not exactly a prospect that many of _our sort_ like to admit to. The possibility that a – a –"

"Muggleborn."

"That a _Muggleborn_ could possibly have been responsible for the defeat of the Dark Lord. Not a popular prospect. But still – it's more likely than the idea that _you_ did something."

"It was actually a convoluted, nearly _coincidental_, combination of things that just happened to come together perfectly, and it was more Voldemort's fault than anyone else's, but yes, my mother played a role in it. I, quite literally, did absolutely nothing. But as you said, I was fifteen months old, so what _could_ I have done?"

Draco paused suddenly and turned a shocked gaze upon Harry. "Are you suggesting that you know why you lived and why he... why _He_ didn't?"

"Well, as it just so happens, he didn't actually die, so that statement isn't really very accurate. But yes, I do know why it happened."

Draco's face slackened slightly. "What do you mean?" he whispered, sounding weirdly hopeful. "What do you mean that he didn't die? I mean, I've heard people whisper... They say that he didn't really die, he was just... just _banished_ or something, but his body was obliterated, right? There was nothing but dust left."

"Voldemort's alive. In fact, right now he's like legitimately _alive_. He got a body back last spring. I've no clue what he's been doing since then. I had mostly expected him to call the Death Eaters back to him and start planning things in secret or something, but apparently he hasn't done that. No clue why."

"Wait – how would you know? How could you possibly know if the Dark Lord got a – a – a _body_ back? If he were back, my father would know!" Draco shouted indignantly before going pale and snapping his mouth shut.

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, Draco. We're in the dorm room, you're safe to say anything you like about your daddy and his affiliations with certain Dark Lords. Not like I didn't already know about it anyway."

Draco went from pale to flushed in an instant and scowled in the direction of one of the far walls.

"_Besides_," Harry continued, "I know he's back because I _saw him_. As in, I was in the same room as him for several hours, we chatted rather civilly, and he let me leave _alive! _Shocking eh? We've also spoken through written correspondence ever since, rather regularly, although he's never really felt like sharing much with me about what he might be up to, but I haven't really asked either. Alright there? Feel better about implicating your father as a Death Eater? I just admitted to regularly chatting with the Dark Lord."

Draco gaped at him. "You're lying. You've_ got _to be lying!"

"Why would I lie about that?" Harry laughed incredulously.

"But – but why are you telling me this _now?_ Just – out of the blue like this? And, honestly, if the Dark Lord had been back since _last spring_, my Father would know!"

"I have no idea why he's chosen not to get his old followers involved," Harry said with a sigh. "But as far as I can tell, he hasn't involved _any_ of his old followers. I doubt it's anything personal against your father. He hasn't contacted Snape yet, either."

"You know about Snape?"

"Of course," Harry rolled his eyes. "Who do you think covered for me when I went to meet with Voldemort? It was during the school year, and I had to sneak off grounds to go see the man. It was that weekend where I was 'sick'" Harry made air quotes with his fingers as he said the word 'sick'. "And Snape covered for me by saying he checked me over and provided me with potions, so I wouldn't have to go to Madam Pomfrey."

"You're really serious," Draco whispered in shock.

"Yes, Draco. I really am serious," Harry said with a fond chuckle. "And as for why I'm telling you this now, well, now that we've got this wonderful bit of frank honesty out in the open between the two of us, I would like for you to tell me, _honestly_, if your father has any ulterior motives with luring me to your home for the Holidays?"

"Ulterior motives?" Draco echoed, sounding mildly insulted.

"You're father is the quintessential Slytherin, Draco. He was _arrested_ for being a Death Eater – caught baring the Dark Mark on his arm – and _still_ managed to get out of all charges without even a mar on his records. _And_ he has since then managed to attain a very powerful and influential position within the Ministry. Now _that_ takes skill. There is _no way_ that he would not have some ulterior motives with something like inviting the Boy-Who-Lived to stay at his home for three whole weeks," Harry deadpanned.

Draco gave Harry a reluctantly conceding sort of nod, but then looked secretly pleased by Harry's remarks on his father's skill as he gave Harry a side-long glance. "He says that you appear to show great promise and that you're likely to become a very influential and powerful wizard as you grow up. Since you and I are already such good friends, he thought it would be prudent for the Malfoys as a family, to endear themselves to you."

Harry chuckled. "The Malfoys as a family to _endear_ themselves to me? That's cute. Hey, you know, your mother is also my second cousin. If your father wants to try and develop some sort of public ties between our families, that's probably the easiest route to take."

"Second cousin? What nonsense are you on about?"

"You and I are second-cousins-once-removed. Didn't you know?"

"What! No we're not! Are we?"

"My grandmother was Dorea Black. She was your mum's Great-Aunt."

"A Potter married a Black!" Draco squawked.

"It was back in the 40's, I think," Harry said with a shrug. "I don't think the Potters were ever really labeled as 'blood traitors' until my father, actually. The Potters have intermarried with loads of old and powerful pure-blood families over the centuries."

Draco frowned. "Well, yes... I did know that, I suppose. I just never realized that they'd married with a _Black_ so recently. The Blacks are usually rather... _picky._"

"Yeah, well, I don't think the rest of the family was entirely thrilled with the marriage – I get the impression that Dorea was sort of scorned a bit after the marriage. But never officially disinherited. It's one of the reasons that my father and Sirius Black were so close. They were first-cousins, once-removed, so they _were_ related. Sirius, being a black sheep of his family, was quite eager to get friendly with the son of the intentionally-snubbed third daughter of Cygnus Black. It was just another way to say eff-you to his family."

"I had no idea," Draco whispered before blinking several times. "How the hell did we get on this topic anyway?"

"I was suggesting a possible route that your family could take in trying to explain to the masses why I would so willingly endear myself, publicly, to them, when it is a known-secret that your father bares the Dark Mark on his arm – Ministry pardon or not. The excuse being that your some of the few living blood relations I have left in the wizarding world."

"You've known this, _all this time_, and never once told me that you and I are related? That we're bloody _cousins!_"

"Well, we're hardly _cousins._ We're second-cousins-once-removed. That's hardly a close relation."

"Don't try to dodge the subject!" Draco snapped and Harry just grinned cheekily at him.

"Yes, I've known all this time. However, I honestly thought you would know as well. Pureblood families do tend to make it a big deal to have their heirs study and memorize the family trees, after all."

Draco went a bit pink. "I'm more familiar with the Malfoy tree than the Black one," he muttered defensively.

"Understandable. So getting back to previous topics – other than trying to begin some sort of public alliance between my potential to become a political player, and your family's already substantial political power, what _other_ reasons does your father have for wanting to invite me?"

Draco frowned and his brow puckered slightly for a moment. "Because I want you to come," he said as if that were clearly explanation enough. "You're my friend, and I insisted that you be allowed to come. They agreed."

Harry blinked.

Just maybe... maybe it really was that simple.

– –

Harry did, in the end, accept the Malfoy's invitation to go to their home for the holidays. It was a break in the monotony, and it was also something he had never done before, which sparked his interest. He also gave Draco permission to pass on a few bits of their discussion to his father and mother, from their conversation in the dorm room. Unfortunately for Draco's frustration, he had not given the blond permission to pass on what he'd said about Voldemort being back and having met with the man the previous spring or communicated with him via missive since then.

It drove Draco absolutely crazy that he knew this huge secret and couldn't tell anyone, and caused the boy to spend a great deal of time around Harry pouting and whining. In the beginning, Harry just found it amusing, but it did eventually get a bit annoying.

Finally, December 19th arrived, and Harry and Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express along with nearly every other member of the third-year Slytherins, for the half-day-long train ride to London.

The Malfoy's greeting at King's Cross station was very proper and distant, as they were in the public eye and Harry couldn't imagine any Malfoy displaying much warmth or affection in public. However they were quickly whisked away via side-along apparition to the entryway of Malfoy Manor, and almost immediately, Narcissa swept Draco up in her arms and began to go on about how much she had missed him, and how horrible it must have been with those awful Dementors so near the school.

Draco, of course, went quite pink, quickly tried to scramble from his mother's grasp. He looked over at Harry with embarrassed horror in his eyes and then let out such a cliché sounding '_Mother!'_ whine that Harry nearly burst out laughing. He did manage to refrain, however, and instead just stood there, grinning in amusement at Draco's obvious embarrassment. Lucius looked rather exasperated with his wife's affections and quickly came to his son's rescue, pealing the two apart and telling Draco what room Harry would be staying in for the course of the holidays.

He then turned his scrutinizing gaze fully on Harry. "We host a yearly gala here at the manor," he drawled easily. "It will be held tomorrow night, if you have not brought appropriate attire, I can have someone summoned to take your measurements and provide you with dress robes of a suitable quality."

"I brought my own, Mr. Malfoy. And you don't have to worry about the quality," Harry replied simply.

Lucius nodded. "Very well then. I will take my leave. Draco, I will see you and Mr. Potter this evening at dinner."

And with that Lucius Malfoy left. Narcissa swept in and resumed preening over his son, asking questions about his school life, and making a point to include Harry as much as possible. Harry was actually quite surprised by all this. He knew that Narcissa Malfoy loved her son and would do pretty much anything for the boy – he even knew she had probably been the one who truly spoiled him rotten, growing up – but he hadn't really expected her to be the mothering type. It was actually rather cute.

And funny. Because Draco was clearly mortified.

Finally Draco managed to ditch his mother and dragged Harry off to their rooms. He showed Harry to the guest room he'd be staying in – it was ludicrously large and lavish, and Harry just smiled politely and nodded. After depositing Harry's bag, Draco dragged him across the hall to _his_ room and quickly began showing off his many expensive things before _then_ dragging Harry on a full tour of the manor. Harry indulged the blond, who was so inexplicably excited to have him there, and even conceded to the impossible – he agreed to get on a broom and go flying.

Aside from the one mandated flying lesson back in first year, Harry had not gotten on a broom since coming to Hogwarts. Draco and the others were probably convinced that Harry either couldn't fly, or was secretly scared of it. Draco had actually been pestering Harry for _ages_ to give flying a try – insisting that if he just _tried it_ he would surly love it. Harry had always politely refused, or just ignored him and his other classmates whenever the matter was brought up.

The truth was that Harry had a love-hate relationship with the whole broom flying concept, these days. There were times when he could still totally lose himself in the exhilaration and utter freedom of flight, but it was always like some sort of tease, and it would end and he would come crashing back to reality.

It wasn't really logical – not something he could put into proper words – but that didn't mean that it didn't still _feel_ intense. It was like a reminder of simpler, happier, times; and he really didn't want to be reminded of that.

But today, Draco was just so uncharacteristically childish and enthusiastic that Harry found he couldn't refuse him. So when the pair ended up by the broom shed out on the private pitch behind the gardens and the hedge maze, Harry found himself being handed a broom by a very smug and clearly thrilled, Draco Malfoy. The blond pulled out his own spare Nimbus 2001 while going on about how Harry didn't have to worry about anything and Draco would make sure he didn't fall off and that there really was nothing to be afraid of.

Harry just grinned to himself, mounted the broom, and shot off into the sky, leaving a gaping Draco behind.

A chase soon ensued, and after Draco finally caught up and the pair were simply flying side-by-side at a more reasonable speed, Draco once again gaped at him, but this time in obvious annoyance.

"Is there _anything_ that you aren't inexplicably good at?" he asked, sounding both annoyed and impressed.

"I've never bothered to learn how to sew," Harry responded with innocent seriousness.

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically before taking off on his broom again to show off some more.

Of course by the time the two called it an afternoon and went inside to clean up and prepare for dinner, Draco was ranting on about how Harry should try out for the Slytherin team, because he was monumentally better than either of their current Chasers, and Slytherin would _surely_ win the cup this year if Harry were to take one of their places.

Harry just gave him an indulgent smile and politely refused. Not that this actually shut Draco up, but he didn't expect it to, either.

Dinner that evening was a generally subdued affair. Narcissa did most of the talking, while Lucius only contributed minor things now and again. Narcissa asked the two boys more about their time at school, their classmates, and their teachers. Draco was eager to preen and brag in front of both of his parents, and filled up most of the discussion.

Lucius did deign to ask Harry a few questions, clearly hedging at his own curiosity over the boy. When the meal was over, he asked the boys to join him in the drawing room while Narcissa went off to attend to whatever Naricissa does. Upon getting the two teens alone, Lucius became a bit more direct and less obtuse about his topics and questions, and even came right out and mentioned the secrecy contract that Harry had drawn up.

He didn't come off as angry or objectionable at all – in fact, he made out like he was quite impressed with such a level of forethought, and said it was a sign of a great Slytherin in the making – the fact that Harry had done such a thing on his own and at the age of eleven was quite surprising. Harry could tell the man was silently not-asking if Harry had some guardian or other adult wizard who had suggested the contract idea, but since there honestly hadn't been, Harry just smiled and shrugged, clearly frustrating the man slightly with his non-response.

Draco also _clearly_ wanted to tell his father a number of things, came quite close a few times before squeaking as the contract gave him a tiny spike in reminder, and quickly set to pouting and whining at Harry. Lucius' curiosity was _obviously_ peaked, and Harry could see it, and the frustration, burning in the man's eyes. Harry had to fight from showing his amusement on his face. It would after all, be quite rude.

Lucius did finally move onto a subject that Draco could actually talk about (since Harry had given him permission) – namely, Harry's biological relationship to the Blacks, and thus, Narcissa and Draco. Until Draco had written his parents about this, they had also apparently been unaware of the connection, and Lucius was clearly intrigued by the possible potential he could see in such an alliance.

"As I understand it, you were left with muggles, weren't you?" Lucius said at one point, and Harry was impressed since this was quite literally the most direct question that Lucius had posed him all evening. He figured the man was probably growing tired of dancing around subjects, waiting for Harry to offer up information, since Harry clearly wasn't offering up anything on his own.

"Oh? Where'd you get that impression?" Harry asked blandly.

There was a twitch in one of Lucius' brows, and his smile grew somewhat tight. "There have long been rumors circulating their way around the Ministry. I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised to learn that you have always been a popular topic to feed the ever-hungry rumor mill. Of course everyone was eternally curious as to whose guardianship you would end up in considering the only person deemed in your parents will to take over your care ended up getting himself locked away in Azkaban prison.

"Understandably, such information has been kept tightly under-wraps. Your protection and safety is obviously more important than sating the curiosity of the masses. Just the same, your clear absence from the magical world all these years led to speculations. The Minister himself has been quite adamant with Dumbledore to reveal your location on several occasions – only to himself and those trusted, of course – but the old man has, of course, been rather insistent on keeping his secrets close at hand. Cornelius did, however, manage to learn that it had been Dumbledore's intention for you to be raised away from the fame you would experience in our world."

Harry snorted. "Oh yes. His plan to prevent me from getting a 'fat head', while keeping me utterly ignorant of my magic and heritage. That didn't work out so well for him," Harry ended with a smirk as he looked up at Mr. Malfoy through his fringe.

Lucius cocked a single brow. "Oh?"

Harry hummed and nodded. "Yes. I can actually tell you why he was so adamant about refusing to divulge my location during the years before I came to Hogwarts. Aside from the obvious 'keeping me safe from Death Eaters out for revenge' excuse, of course."

"Yes?" Lucius drawled, and there was a fire of curiosity raging behind his silver-gray eyes.

Harry hummed again through a smirk and nodded. "Yes. He was trying to hide the fact that he had no idea where I was."

Lucius blinked. "Excuse me?"

"He lost me," Harry pressed on, grinning even wider. "The night he left me with his chosen guardians, he quite literally left me on their doorstep in a basket with a note. Problem, of course, being that I had been walking quite well on my own since I was nine months old, I was always quite resilient against sleeping charms, and it was quite cold that night – being November and all, this isn't all that surprising. So I simply got up and walked away. He was never able to find me. Well, not until my Hogwarts letter was sent out, anyway. So the reality of the matter was that he wasn't actually hiding _me,_ so much as he was hiding his own utter failure and incompetence at seeing to my safety."

Draco was gaping.

"But... but where'd you go? Where'd you end up?" Draco asked.

Harry just grinned at him. "I'm afraid, that is my secret to keep."

Draco groaned in annoyance and threw his head back against the couch he was sitting at.

"Draco," Lucius scolded for the plebeian gesture and Draco went pink and ducked his head before sitting up straighter and trying to look perfectly proper.

"So are you suggesting that you were _not_ raised by muggles then?" Lucius asked Harry.

Harry hummed indifferently and shrugged. "I did spend the majority of my youth living in the muggle world. Muggle flats and such. It's easy to disappear there if you know what you're doing and are good at brewing a few key potions."

"Potions? So you were raised by a witch or wizard? And what sorts of potions, might you be referring to?" Lucius prodded, digging for more clues.

"Aging potions. Polyjuice – although it has a frustratingly short shelf-life, so I used it sparingly. Short-term memory modifiers. Arminger's Suggestive potion is one of my favorites. Flavorless and clear and blends in so easily with tea. Just invite any nosy neighbors in for tea, get them to take a few sips, and then _suggest_ that they find you extremely uninteresting and that they want nothing more than to mind their own business and never pay you any attention at all, and you're pretty much scott free."

"Arminger's is an extremely complicated potion to brew," Lucius remarked sounding mildly impressed. "And of course Polyjuice is extremely work and time intensive. It has such a long brew time, after all... You must have had a very skilled teacher."

"I'm mostly self-taught with potions," Harry said with a shrug. "I had a teacher early on at one point, but he and I clashed so horribly that I couldn't really learn anything from him. It wasn't until later on when I took an interest on my own that I started to make any real progress in the subject."

"Even more impressive, then. After all, you're only thirteen years old and you've apparently been brewing since before you even started Hogwarts?" Lucius hedged and Harry again just shrugged earning him an annoyed twitch from Lucius' left eye.

"Well, I suppose there must be some reason that they're all saying I'm some sort of prodigy. Personally, I feel I've just put in extra effort, and I suppose many subjects just come easier to me than most. It helps that I've got a very good memory."

Lucius hummed and nodded his head slowly, giving Harry a tight smile.

– –

_The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

The following morning was spent out flying with Draco again, at the blond's insistence. Narcissa was running around the house, shouting orders to the house elves and the various people who had been hired to staff the gala ball, and Harry was perfectly willing to give the woman her space, even if it meant more flying. He _was_ sort of enjoying himself, after all. Even if it was rather bittersweet at moments.

Lucius didn't join them for lunch as he was busy wrapping up some things at the Ministry before returning for the evening's events. After lunch, he and Draco went to the blond's room and just relaxed while Draco showed off more of his expensive trinkets and what sorts of neat things they could do, while Harry sat there with one of his journals in his lap, lazily making notes to an outline he was planning his way through.

The two finally went into their separate rooms to prepare for the evening's big event, and Harry suspected that Draco would need as much time as possible since the boy preened over his appearance about as much as a bloody peacock. It had taken a great force of will for Harry to not crack a joke or two about the many such birds wandering the grounds, actually.

Harry was ready long before Draco came to get him, so the blond found him hunched over his notebook, scribbling away inside it, and made a rather exasperated sound before pulling the quill out of Harry's hand and glaring at him. Harry just gave him a cheeky grin, wiggled his fingers, and wandlessly summoned the quill back. Draco's eyes went wide and his face slackened for a moment before he managed to reclaim his composure and just scowled at Harry.

"Not funny. It's so creepy when you do that. That's not normal, you know. You do realize that, don't you? Normal wizards can't _do_ that."

Harry just grinned wider and shrugged, earning him a huff from the blond. "It just takes practice, Draco. Given enough time, you could probably learn to do it too."

This was not the first time Harry had said this to Draco, and despite 'practicing' and whining to Harry for instruction on the subject, he hadn't gotten anywhere, so he gave Harry an annoyed and clearly skeptical look in return. "Come on. We have to go to the entry hall and help mother greet the guests," Draco said and Harry closed his book and set it aside.

Harry was later glad that he and Draco only played a minor role in the greeting process. Mostly they stayed towards the back and Draco whispered into Harry's ear as to who everyone was as they showed up, while Narcissa did most of the actual greeting. Draco did have to greet those who came over to him, and he played the perfect pureblood heir and gentleman to all of them, with an appropriate level of haughtiness, dependent on the social standing of the various individuals he was having to greet. Harry participated only so much as was necessary to remain polite.

And then, after what Harry assumed was the majority of the guests had arrived and the ballroom had been filling for some time, Harry was struck with a sudden and intense sensation that jolted him fully from his boredom. It happened with very little warning, but Harry was instantly aware that something had _shifted_ in the atmosphere the moment _He_ walked in. Shivers were running through his skin, and his heart rate picked up inexplicably. Rationally, Harry was aware of the strange shift, and observed his body's own reactions with mild curiosity. This was not something he had specifically experienced before – which was rare – and yet, he also was familiar _enough_ with some of the sensations that he was still fairly sure what it was he was experiencing, and what it meant.

His eyes were drawn to the source of his unexpected reaction like a magnet. Harry was standing beside Draco who was chatting with some young 20-something wizard Harry hadn't bothered to learn the name of, and simply watched as the tall and only mildly-familiar man entered the entrance hall wearing extremely fine robes and was greeted by Narcissa.

Harry nudged Draco in the ribs after a moment of silently scrutinizing the man.

"What?" Draco hissed in annoyance at being prodded so roughly.

"Who's that with your mother right now?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes off the man – he wasn't sure if he _could, _honestly. It was almost concerning how strong the pull felt. Definitely stronger than he'd ever experienced before, and he wondered what had changed.

Draco went to open his mouth and respond, but closed it a moment later and frowned. "I don't know," he said, blinking in apparent surprise at his own lack of knowledge on the man's identity.

"Oh, I know who he is," the 20-something wizard said, earning him curious looks from Draco and Harry – although Harry's gaze only diverted to the unnamed wizard for a moment before they were drawn back to Him. "His name is Marcus Aurelius Verus. He's been causing quite a stir in the Ministry lately. Throwing around lots of money – campaign donations, of course. Just appeared out of no where over the summer. Apparently he's been living abroad for the majority of the last decade, but the last of his family over here died recently and left him everything so he came back to manage the family assets."

Harry's gaze slipped back to the wizard and he was gaping with stunned amusement. He coughed out an incredulous laugh. "Marcus Aurelius Verus?" he exclaimed with a barely stifled laugh. "He's seriously calling himself _Marcus Aurelius Verus?"_ he said again as his chest shook with barely contained mirth.

Draco and the wizard exchanged bewildered looked as Harry had to bring his hand up over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"I don't get it," the wizard said with hesitant annoyance as he looked over at Draco. Draco just shrugged before looking back at Harry impatiently. "What are you on about, Harry?"

Harry snickered and shook his head, still covering his mouth with one hand. Finally he seemed to have his urge to burst into hysterics under control, but his eyes were still filled with mirth. They were also clearly trained on the wizard again, who was now chatting with both Narcissa and Lucius. The group appeared to be embroiled in the normal inane small-talk one experiences at events such as these.

"It's just," Harry began, again pausing to keep from snickering, "it's just that Marcus Aurelius was the last of the Five Good Emperors of Rome. He's considered one of the most important Stoic philosopher's, and is credited with defeating the Parthian Empire, as well as many other military successes. He was co-emperor with Lucius Verus, and together the two made new provisions in support of poor children, permitted free speech, replaced a huge number of corrupt officials from Pius' regime, and his Stoic tome 'meditations' which was written while on campaign is _still_ revered as a literary monument to a philosophy of service and duty, describing how to find and preserve equanimity in the midst of conflict by following nature as a source of guidance and inspiration," he snickered, shaking his head. "He wasn't of the direct line, which is partially why he shared his role with Lucius Verus but he married the empress Faustina, and was so liked that even after her death he was given divine honors – that's a big deal. This guy was _revered_."

Draco just looked confused and shook his head. The other wizard was no better.

"Wait, what does that have to do with this guy, though? So his parents named him after a Roman emperor... that's hardly rare, Harry. My _father_ is named after Roman emperors. Professor Snape is named after Roman emperor's. It's a quite common naming trend among the old families. Surely _you_ know that."

Harry's jaw floundered, but his face was still filled with amusement. He ducked his head, chuckling and shook it from side to side. "There's no way I could properly explain to you why this is so amusing to me. Just trust me. It is."

Draco gave him a rather dubious look but eventually just rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Fine, Harry. Whatever."

Harry went back to watching the wizard and never really took his eyes off him for the next fifteen minutes as the man made the move into the ballroom and made his way around the huge hall to mingle and chat with several different groups.

Draco had given up questioning Harry about his fascination with the man and left him to his own devices so that he too could see to his duties as host and heir to the Malfoy family. Finally He was alone and Harry strode purposefully through the crowd towards the man calling himself Marcus Verus.

The man in question was just settling himself against a bare slice of wall, looking out through the crowd with a scrutinizing gaze. Said eyes instantly locked on Harry and narrowed considerably. Harry easily twisted and came to stand directly beside the man, leaning against the wall and also looking out over the crowd. A subtle twist of his wrist, hanging limply at his side, and Harry's wand slid down into his hand. Another small flick and the din of voices around them was suddenly muffled.

The wizard beside him continued to glare at him with narrow, suspicious eyes. "Can I help you with something?" he asked in a clipped tone.

Harry turned his head and grinned up at the man. "I have to say – I _really_ wasn't expecting to run into you here."

Harry was almost positive that he saw the man's eye twitch with irritation.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

Harry chuckled, reached up as if to brush the hair away from his forehead but let his hand linger there for a moment, tapping at his scar. "I can feel it when I'm in the same room with one of your horcruxes. The larger the bit of your soul is, the stronger I can sense them. It was what first clued me in to the fact that the bits of soul contained in the different horcruxes were different sizes. That diary was always the loudest of them all, but after I put it back in you last spring, I felt that same sensation from your own body, but – you know, _more so_. In fact, it's actually quite a lot stronger now than it was, even then. I can _feel_ that it's you, so cut the crap."

A rather annoyed look graced the man's face before he seemed to shift to resignation. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he even heard the man sigh.

"Fine, Potter. Yes. It's me," Voldemort spat in obvious annoyance.

Harry found himself grinning inexplicably. He just found this whole thing amusing for some reason. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"It's a ball, Potter. I was invited."

"Do the Malfoy's realize who you are?"

"No, of course they don't," Voldemort snapped and pinned Harry with a piercing glare, "and I would rather they not find out from _you_."

Harry held up his hands, still grinning, and only barely keeping himself from laughing. "Hey, my lips are sealed. But... well _why? _ It looks like you're doing the whole Ministry social-political game here and it just seems to me that you'd have a much easier time of that if you took advantage of some of your old contacts. I mean, a bunch of your old Death Eaters from back in the day have managed to work their way into pretty influential positions within the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy, especially."

"I have no intention of discussing this with _you_, in a place so public," Voldemort sneered.

"I cast a muffling charm. No one can hear us, and if they look too hard, even our mouths will appear obscured."

"They can still _see_ us."

"We could always slip out. There's a drawing room just down the hall."

"This ball is an opportunity for me, Potter. I would rather not waste the whole thing talking to _you_."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "I always thought these sorts of events were such brain numbing rubbish. The schmoozing, the pandering, the _gossip_. I mean, I understand the value an intelligent person can get out of them, not to mention the source of blackmail information they sometimes offer, but I always felt they were just so much of a chore to endure for so little reward."

Voldemort's lip curled in a mild sneer at Harry before he turned his gaze back on the crowd. "I suppose you had to endure plenty of gala's where you were renowned as the hero of the wizarding world for defeating the big, evil, Dark Lord?"

Harry grimaced. "Certainly did have to endure a few of those; yes. I mostly avoided them like the plague in my first life though, which was the one where it was really publicly known that I defeated you that second time, in a big epic battle. I kept things more subtle after that. It was actually in a few of my later lives where I had a lot more direct interaction with the Ministry and politics. I was even Minister for Magic in one life."

Voldemort's face snapped back and he actually looked mildly surprised by this statement.

"_You_ were Minister?"

"Yup."

"Somehow, I have trouble picturing that."

"I was a bit less insane back then," Harry said, still grinning rather widely and somewhat manically.

Voldemort snorted and returned to looking back out over the crowd.

Harry took a moment to observe the wizard standing beside him. "You still kind of look like you," Harry observed, drawing a side-ways glance from the other wizard.

"Excuse me?"

"You still kind of look like your old self – Tom Riddle, I mean. Aren't you worried about being recognized?"

"I feel I have sufficiently altered my appearance. Besides, very few people are left alive today that knew me when I was younger, and fewer still who know that 'Tom Riddle' is the same person who later became Lord Voldemort. By the time I returned to Britain from traveling abroad, I had already performed a great number of rituals upon myself that left me appearing less than human. No doubt the number of times I had already split my soul also played a role in my physical deterioration. By the time I began recruiting followers for the Knights of Walpurgis, I was already solely using the title Lord Voldemort, and my appearance was sufficiently different from that of my youth that few connected me with Tom Riddle."

Harry blinked, honestly stunned the man had given him a legitimate answer, and that he'd shared so much frank and honest detail with him.

"But what if Dumbledore sees the resemblance? Obviously _he_ knows that you were Tom Riddle. He already suspects that you're back – after all he knows that Quirrell took the stone and vanished, and he knows that the imprisoned Death Eater's Dark Marks have all darkened and strengthened."

"He will have no proof."

"He could still make whatever it is that you're doing, much more difficult," Harry pointed out, raising a single eyebrow.

Voldemort grimaced slightly, but then gave a rather dismissive sort of shrug. "I had no desire to live the rest of my life under glamours. This was sufficient. I've also put a significant amount of effort into creating history to my new persona and he would have difficulties disproving my current identity."

Harry cocked his eyebrow again. "Okay. So if you're not using glamours, then what have you done?"

The man standing beside Harry really did look a great deal like Voldemort had the previous spring when Harry had briefly held him against his will in order to put the diary soul back in with the rest of him. His hair was lighter – a dusty light brown, rather than the dark, near-black color it had been before, and he had it trimmed fairly short, brushed back an styled somewhat. His eyes were also now a grayish-blue, instead of dark brown. He had a stronger nose now than the pert, up-turned thing he'd had before, making him look even more aristocratic than before, and his jaw was perhaps a bit more narrow. They were subtle changes – the sort that would make Harry think he was maybe looking at a close relative of Tom Riddle's rather than Tom Riddle himself. But the resemblance was still clearly there – or at least, it seemed clear to Harry. But all of his other senses were also screaming at him that this was Voldemort, so maybe he wasn't the best judge.

"The modifications are permanent. The result of a series of human transfigurations, followed by potions to cement the changes."

"Wow. Commitment."

"As I said, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life under glamours. They pose to many risks to rely on them consistently."

"So this persona is permanent then?" Harry asked in a voice tinged with surprise.

"I am establishing myself as a powerful figure to be reckoned with. That is not a process I intend to endure more than once."

"So... wait... are you really going to do this legitimately then?"

"Do _what_?" Voldemort asked with a tone that said he was clearly growing tired of all these questions.

"I mean, you're doing the politics thing the legitimate way? Are you hoping to run for Minister at some point? Instead of trying to attack from the outside and take over, you're going to... what? Work your way up from the inside and become Minister, then abolish the electorate system and become dictator _that way_?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"Is that such a shocking strategy to take?" Voldemort asked, smirking at him from the corner of his eye.

"I just..." Harry's mouth floundered, "I guess I didn't think you'd have the patience for it. Seems like that'll take a while."

"I have time."

Harry blinked in legitimate surprise now. "Really?"

"It's not like I'm going to die anytime soon, am I?" he asked, now smirking down at Harry more directly.

"Yeah, well, I suppose not. You've got the Philosopher's Stone, and you've still got your other Horcruxes..."

"Horcrux," Voldemort whispered so quietly, Harry almost missed it.

But he didn't miss it.

"What?"

"Hmm?" hummed with blank innocence.

"Did you say 'horcrux' – as in singular?" Harry asked, frowning in confusion.

Voldemort turned his head slightly, pinning Harry with a scrutinizing gaze for several long seconds before he gave Harry a sharp nod of his head. "Yes. You're the only one left. So you would do well not to risk your own neck."

Harry's jaw fell open. "Wha – wait, what? Huh?"

"How very articulate," Voldemort drawled.

"What do you mean, I'm the only one left?" Harry asked, louder now and straightening his stance.

"I reabsorbed the others. It's the primary reason I had you send the ones you had, back to me."

Harry gaped at him for several stunned seconds. "You – you _reabsorbed_ them? All of them? Even the Ring? How'd you get the Cup out of the Lestrange vault?"

Voldemort responded with an exasperated look and shook his head. "It was hardly the first time I broke into the goblin's bank. Surely you're aware of my attempt at getting the stone before your first year. And _that_ was while working through a handicap like _Quirrell._"

Harry did have to give him a conceding nod at that. Hell, Harry himself had actually broken into the bank in a few of his lives, in order to retrieve Hufflepuff's cup.

"Okay, yeah, that was a dumb question. But wait – you really reabsorbed them? How'd you do it?"

Voldemort's face tightened and then went blank at this question. "The only way that I knew how," he bit out in clipped tones, and through clenched teeth, a moment later.

Harry gaped at him. "_You_ – Why didn't you ask me for the ritual for transferring them?" he exclaimed, horrified by the prospect of what the man would have had to go through without it.

Voldemort sneered down at him. "I was not going to ask _you_ for more help," he snapped.

"But that's just stupid! Without that ritual, the only other option is – I mean, you would have had to endure the agony of t_rue remorse_ to do it the traditional way. Experienced the pain of loss experienced by each of your victim's loved ones – everyone close to them – in order to understand the full effect their death had on the world, and then truly and legitimately _regret_ your actions. Feel real _remorse_ for –"

"_Yes, Potter,"_ Voldemort said sharply, cutting Harry off with both his words and the death glare in his eyes. "I am aware of what I had to endure and do not wish to be reminded of it."

Harry was still staring at him with shocked disbelief, however. "How did you even _do_ it?" he whispered, shaking his head slowly.

"There is nothing that I cannot do, if I set my mind to doing it," Voldemort bit out with obvious annoyance.

"Huh." Harry stated still rather stunned and slowly nodded his head. He supposed it was true that the man was probably stubborn enough to believe that, but Harry wouldn't have really believed it if 'doing anything' included feeling bad for killing people. But apparently, Voldemort _could_ feel bad for killing people, seeing as how it was the only option available here. "But... why?"

"Why, what?" Voldemort snapped impatiently, clearly growing annoyed with this.

"Why reabsorb them at all? I thought you seemed pretty against that idea?"

Voldemort frowned and turned his head to once again stare out over the crowded ballroom. After a long silence he spoke. "I wished to be whole again. Or at least, as whole as possible while retaining at least one thread of protection. Being the last of my horcruxes, the soul contained within you is also the smallest, so it makes sense that you be the only one to remain. I now have basically 99% of an in-tact soul in my body, while still getting the 'safety net' provided by having a horcrux. I also learned, doing a bit more study and experimentation, that even as I was with more than half, or even three-quarters of a soul, my new body would slowly deteriorate as it did in my twenties and thirties. I would also continue to have less control over my magic than I enjoyed in my youth before I first fractured my soul."

Harry's lips were parted with surprise, but he nodded his head slowly, accepting this explanation quite easily, as it was honestly a very logical conclusion. It just wasn't a conclusion that he'd expected Voldemort to come to without being prodded or forced into it.

"Well... I'm surprised, but I can't say I'm not glad you did it," Harry finally said a few moments later. "I still wish you'd just asked me for the ritual though. It would have been much easier to get your soul bits back together with it, and you wouldn't have had to endure all that, and for each and every one of your horcruxes..." Harry trailed off, grimacing slightly in imagination of what sort of suffering had to have been endured. But then again... he supposed that Voldemort probably deserved it.

When Harry looked back over at the other man, he was surprised to find Voldemort looking rather, _pensive._

"No... it needed to happen this way," he said softly, and Harry found himself just staring in stunned surprise at the man, not knowing what to say.

The two stood there in pensive silence for several minutes after that. The dance floor was filled with dancing couples now, but there was still a large group of people standing along one end of the ballroom just talking. The tables occupying the other half of the room were slowly filling with people as well.

"So you really intend to start from nothing and work your way into the Ministry?" Harry asked somewhat incredulously.

Voldemort sneered down at him in apparent exasperation. "I am merely setting the foundation for my future plans. I do, in fact, intend to eventually enlist the services of certain individuals, once I am sure which ones will actually still be useful to me, considering the rather significant shift in my goals and priorities."

"Significant shift?" Harry asked, his curiosity peaked.

"Yes, Potter. Times have changed, and obviously, so have I. The same tactics I enlisted before will not work as effectively now, nor would I _want_ to stick to certain plans that I was honestly already rather insane, when I came up with them."

"Well... that's good to hear," Harry said, honestly a bit surprised. "So, uh... still aiming for muggle domination or whatever?"

Voldemort _definitely_ rolled his eyes at this. "No, Potter. I am not so deluded to consider that a viable option – but honestly, I was _never_ that deluded. That was merely an easy way to pander to the more violent and gullible of my followers. While the notion of wizards being a global aristocracy who rules over the weaker, simpler muggle peasants is a fairy tale believed only by the simplest of the old blood lines who have never even spoken with a muggle or bothered to learn a single blasted thing about muggles, their entire life."

Harry snorted and nodded. "You would have to be pretty ignorant of how the rest of the world works to honestly think something like that is feasible."

"Precisely. And at this point in my plans, I have absolutely no need for servants who are so stupid that they could fall for such drivel. I am currently in the process of preparing for future plans. When I feel it is appropriate to do so, I will hand-pick select individuals to reveal who I am, and enlist their services. Until a time when _I_ deem it appropriate to do this, I need to know that no one is going to be revealing things that shouldn't be revealed," he said in a slow, threatening tone while glaring over at Harry.

Harry just grinned innocently. "Surely you're not suggesting that I might do something to screw up whatever delicate plans you may be constructing?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed threatening.

"You know, if you just kept me in the loop on a few details every now and then, it'd be simpler to make sure I don't accidentally do something to get in your way," Harry continued on after that.

"I will take that under advisement," Voldemort bit out through clenched teeth, and Harry grinned at the man's obvious annoyance. "Now, are you finally going to allow me to return to the party, or do you intend to monopolize my time, all night?"

"Yeah, yeah – oh hey, wait, There was one more thing."

Voldemort gave a rather exasperated and impatient sigh and turned to look at Harry expectantly. "Well?"

"_Marcus Aurelius_? _Really_?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes in annoyance at Harry's obvious amusement.

"I'm leaving, Potter."

Harry snickered. "Fine, fine. Enjoy the mindless pandering."

Voldemort pushed off the wall and walked away without another word, dispelling the muffling charm as soon as he walked through it's boundaries. Harry remained relaxed against the wall for a moment longer, before pushing himself off to go find Draco.

–


	10. Chapter 10

–

Harry's holiday at the Malfoy's was as interesting as it was boring. Lucius Malfoy never lost his scrutinizing, speculative looks whenever he was in a room with Harry, and had made several subtle attempts to prod him into sharing information, especially as it was obvious that his son was dying to tell him something important, but unable to do so because of his secrecy contract with Harry and their dorm mates. Harry never did tell Lucius anything about Voldemort being back, of course. They did have a few interesting conversations however, including one where Lucius asked Harry why he had been interested in that old booklet on the Knights of Walpurgis.

This had actually led to Harry telling Lucius about his books and giving him a copy of the one where he had used the booklet as a reference for some of his points against the excessive banning of certain branches of magic. To say that Lucius Malfoy was surprised by the book would be an understatement. In the end, he was also very impressed by it and Harry could tell the man was having trouble believing that he'd been the one to write it, so Harry showed him a few of his works in progress and some of his notes for some of the others. They actually had some very interesting discussions over his writings and Lucius had some interesting first-had accounts to share with Harry.

Upon learning that Harry was actually considering getting some of his shorter essays published over the next year, Lucius had offered to put Harry in contact with a man he was friends with who was the editor of the leading British wizarding sociopolitical magazine, which usually had a very strict approval process.

Despite spending quite a few evenings having such discussions with Lucius Malfoy, the majority of Harry's holiday was not spent with the man, but with Draco. They also went shopping several times, and floo'd over to some of their classmates homes for day-visits. Lucius Malfoy had even gotten them tickets to a Falmouth Falcon's game two days before New Years, and Harry had reluctantly enjoyed it, quite a bit.

During a few of their evening meals, when Narcissa would go on about socialite gossip with her mostly disinterested husband, Harry had slipped in a few questions about the wizard named Marcus Verus, that he had seen at the ball. Lucius had actually perked up at this, and offered a few tidbits he found interesting from the Ministry grapevine. He was clearly intrigued by the mysterious man who had appeared out of no where and started throwing money around like it was paper, and Harry wondered if Lucius had any suspicions about the man's identity.

He also wondered where the hell Voldemort had come by so much money. Best he could figure, the man must have had some huge war fund built up and hidden away somewhere, all these years.

Draco had, of course, given an exasperated sort of huff and asked Harry why he was so interested in the man, but Harry had just given him his infuriating smile that told Draco he wouldn't be getting any answers.

The holiday drew to a close and the two young teens returned to Hogwarts and classes. During his freetime, Harry did finally chose and prep a couple papers that he thought would make good introductory candidates for his first bit of published work and sent them off to Mr. Malfoy's friend at that magazine. The man in question was apparently impressed, but seriously questioning whether or not a thirteen year old (let alone _Harry Potter_) could write something like that. Lucius had apparently had to convince the man that Harry wasn't plagiarizing someone else's work before the man finally agreed to print either of them, but once he _was_ sure, he was quite enthusiastic, and looking forward to what sort of response they would get from debuting the famous Harry Potter's writings.

Hermione was beyond thrilled to hear that Harry was finally making moves towards getting his writings published, and the girl was almost unbearable in her excitement level leading up to the printing of the issue Harry's first essay would be in.

It was a Tuesday morning at breakfast, when the issue came out. Hermione had already ordered a copy ahead of time, and it was delivered by owl along with the regular morning post, Daily Prophet, and Witch Weekly magazines. Harry could hear Hermione's squeal from all the way across the hall at the Slytherin table, and glanced up from his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon to see her stand and race around the table and across the hall with the magazine clutched in her hands. Harry's brows slowly rose into his hairline as she rushed right over to the Slytherin table and sat herself down next to him, totally ignoring the glares she was getting from quite a few of the surrounding Slytherin students – Pansy Parkinson, especially, although she didn't dare say a word by this point.

"You're on the cover!" Hermione squealed and shook the magazine in front of his face.

"Wait, what?" Harry said, blinking somewhat dazedly as he tried to focus on the fast moving blur, waving in his face.

"On the cover of what?" Daphne Greengrass, who was sitting across the table from the pair of them, asked with obvious interest. Several others seemed to have perked up with curiosity as well by this point, and Draco, sitting on Harry's other side was leaning around glaring cautiously at Hermione.

"What is she on about?" Draco asked Harry, frowning.

"The cover, Harry! They made your story the headline!" Hermione exclaimed, finally laying the magazine down flat on the table beside Harry's plate.

"Is that MP Magazine?" someone a few seats down asked.

"Potter's on the cover of MP?" someone else exclaimed.

Harry stared down with only mild surprise at the February issue of _Magical Policy Magazine_ that featured, quite prominently and in large bold text, the cover story '_Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: State of Affairs in Wizarding Britain's Politics and what we could be doing better. By Harry Potter'. _

Beneath that were the names of two other stories also in the issue, but '_Owned by the Aurors: Has the Minister lost control of his Hit Wizards? By Marshal Pickets' _and '_Gold Faithful: Goblins profiting from paranoia with precious metals. By Thomas Frank' _were not displayed nearly as prominently.

"Whoa! He is!" a forth year who was now standing and looking over Harry's shoulder exclaimed with awe in his tone. "My father swears by MP Magazine!"

"_Everyone's _father's swear by it, Matthews," someone else drawled.

"I doubt Crabbe's father's would even understand the cartoons," someone snickered, and an indignant "_Oi!"_ could be heard from Crabbe further down the table.

"Whoa, wait! Potter did you really write this?" a sixth year who had a copy of his own and was now holding the magazine up, folded open to Harry's article and pointing at it questioningly.

Harry glanced up at him and nodded while making an affirmative sort of humming sound.

"No way! He's only a third-year!" a seventh year Slytherin exclaimed incredulously.

"Yeah, but he's _Potter!"_

"So it's just his name? Does it suck, then?"

"No way! It's brill, Travis. You've gotta read this," the sixth year who had been holding up the magazine said tossing it across the table. A large group gathered around it to read and Hermione looked down at Harry with a big smug grin on her face.

"I didn't know you were getting an article published," Draco's indignant voice drew Harry's attention to the now blatantly pouting blond sitting beside him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Didn't I?"

"No! You didn't!"

"It was your father that put me in contact with the editor. This is mostly what he and I were talking about at your home over the holiday. You were in the room with us a couple times when we were talking about it."

"I wasn't paying attention to that!" Draco said, indignantly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, it hardly matters anyway, Draco. It's not that big of a deal."

"Not a big deal?" the blond exclaimed.

"Not a big deal!" Hermione echoed in horror. "Harry, this most certainly _is_ a big deal! This is an internationally distributed magazine! Magical Policy Magazine is the most well respected political publication in Britain! They're extremely exclusive!"

"Yes! Granger's right!" Draco exclaimed before suddenly grimacing horribly, looking as if he'd just sullied himself.

Harry snorted in amusement before rolling his eyes and going back to his breakfast.

"Aren't you going to look at it?" Hermione asked, pointing to the magazine.

"I wrote the thing, I already know what it says."

Hermione gave him a very exasperated glare. "Don't you want to make sure they didn't mess something up?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll look at it after Breakfast."

"Urgh! You are utterly hopeless!"

Harry just chuckled and put a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth, smiling up at her innocently.

– –

_Men in general judge more by the sense of sight than by the sense of touch, because everyone can see, but only a few can test by feeling. Everyone sees what you seem to be, few know what you really are, and those few do not dare take a stand against the general opinion._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

That evening as Harry was preparing for bed, he noticed the faint glow that only he could see, coming off of one of the journals in his rucksack. He ensconced himself behind his bed hangings and opened the book, flipping through the book to the most recent entry. It had been about a week since he'd last written in the thing, and it had been since before the holiday since the owner of the other copy had written anything back.

But there, on the first available blank page in the journal, written in the familiar, long narrow letters Harry had come to associate with Voldemort, was a message.

_'Read your article. Are you planning to do more of these?'_

And that was it. Short and simple, as nearly all of Voldemort's messages back to him were. Harry reached out towards his rucksack sitting on the floor beside his bed and summoned his favorite quill with a wiggle of his fingers. He had charmed the thing himself to have a never ending ink well, and an ever-sharp tip. It would eventually wear down and he'd have to charm himself a new one, but it would last longer than a store-bought one would.

He put quill to the parchment and wrote back a quick response. _'I've got a stack of them waiting in the wings. If the response is good, MP's editor is eager for more. So yes. I suppose I am planning on printing more.'_

Harry set his quill down and made to shut the book, as he certainly wasn't expecting to get a reply anytime soon, but was caught short when text began to appear below his own a second later.

_'I would like to read them.'_

Harry blinked at this for a moment before shrugging and picking his quill back up. _'I could post you copies of some of them. An owl to Marcus Verus would get to you, right?'_

_'Yes.'_

Harry hesitated for a moment on what to write next. He'd never before this point caught Voldemort during a real-time conversation with the protean-charmed book, so it was a somewhat odd experience at first. He also wasn't sure if the man would really care enough about what he was considering offering next, but shrugged to himself and pressed on.

_'Would you want to see any of my books as well? I'm only prepping the shorter articles for MP.'_

_'Books?'_

A small grin curved Harry's lips as he could practically feel the intrigue rolling off the carefully scripted writing. Or perhaps he was getting a subtle impression across their link? He kept the thing fairly closed off for each of their privacies sake, but some things still leaked through from time to time.

_'I've written a number of books so far. Only a handful are really publishing material at the moment, but if you're interested, I could make you copies of them.'_

There was a brief pause after that, and Harry started going over in his mind which articles he would pull together to send to Voldemort first when the response finally came.

_'Send me copies of all of them.'_

Harry snorted at the commanding tone he could feel oozing off the letters.

_'Yes, your greatness. Right away.'_ Harry wrote back while pulling back the mental barrier he kept up between their link and pushing sarcasm forcefully across it.

_'Brat.'_

Harry cackled to himself, grinning down at the page as he felt the other man's annoyance leaking back along the link.

The whole experience was still new and fascinating for him. Even after all these life times that he'd lived so far, this was the first time he had truly indulged in intentionally communicating across the link they shared. He was honestly a bit surprised with himself at not having considered doing it before, but he knew that in most of his previous lives he'd been focused on getting the 'Voldemort problem' out of the way as quickly and cleanly as possible, so he could tackle other theories as to why he was stuck in an endless loop. But this route was proving to be much more interesting so far, so he really was feeling pretty glad he'd decided to try this.

Voldemort apparently picked up on his good mood, judging by what he wrote a moment later. _'I hardly see what you could find so amusing, in this.'_

_'Well, first off – I'm older than you, so you calling me a brat, __is__ honestly rather amusing. But mostly I'm just a bit thrilled with myself right now. Just had one of those moments I get every few years or decades or so, where I'm suddenly pleased with the direction I'm taking. I don't really get them all that often, so I'm quite happy when I do.'_

_'What do you mean by the 'direction your taking'?'_ Voldemort wrote back and Harry could feel the man's slightly bothered confusion.

_'Siding with you. I'm just pleased with it. That's all.'_

_'You are very odd, Harry Potter.'_

Harry barked out a laugh.

_'Just send me those books,'_ Voldemort wrote a moment later, and Harry could feel the man's exasperation with his own amusement.

_'Will do.'_

– –

_I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Harry did send copies of several of his books and a batch of essay articles to 'Marcus Verus' after that, and they were a regular source of conversation for the two, via the protean-charmed book. It became scheduled bi-monthly thing for them, in fact. To the point where they designated time so that they could have real-time conversations more often. Whenever they did this, Harry let the barrier on the link go down, and it added another level of depth to their otherwise flatly written conversations.

Harry had also continued to submit articles to MP magazine, and basically became a regular contributor. Public response had been immediate after that first issue, and it was obvious that the public was excited for more. There were two sides to the interest – on one side, there were those who were legitimately interested in the content of the articles, but on the other side were those who were fascinated by the idea of this thirteen-year-old prodigy, Harry Potter, who could write insightful and intelligent political and social commentary, and gain the respect of wizards many years his senior.

Witch Weekly and the Prophet both wanted to run articles on him a mere two months after his first article was published in MP, and Harry even agreed to do in-person interviews for both papers. He wasn't the least bit surprised when Rita Skeeter showed up during the Hogsmeade visit where he had arranged to meet with the reporter from Witch Weekly.

He also wasn't surprised when she quickly tried to steer the interview down more personal and juicy paths than the boring, dry, world of socio-political economics. As soon as Rita's Quick Quotes Quill began scribbling out rubbish, Harry twitched his fingers while glaring at the thing and it burst into flames.

Rita shrieked in surprised shock and quick grabbed the thing out of the air, tossed it onto the table and began putting the flames out with a handkerchief from her purse. She gaped at the charred, smoldering green feather quill for a moment before trying to mask her shock and gave him a pandering smile.

Harry just smiled innocently back.

"Rita, tell me something," Harry started then and she sat up a bit straighter, brushing the charred quill aside without even looking at it. "What are your feelings about the stance the Ministry takes with tracking witches and wizards with more – _unique_, skillsets?"

Rita frowned slightly. "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean," she said, looking confused but now trying to hide it behind a fake smile.

"Oh, you know – like when the Ministry forces people to register certain abilities, so that they can better keep track of them. Like an Animagus, for example," he said, tipping his head down and looking up at her through his fringe with a knowing sort of smirk.

The smile slid off her face and she went deathly blank for a moment before the mask was pulled back up. "Well, I haven't really got much of an opinion on the matter. It seems like a reasonable precaution for the Ministry to take – insisting that wizards with such specialized skills be registered," she said, once again giving him that pandering smile.

Harry hummed. "Yes, I suppose so. After all, if a person could say – turn themselves into a little bug, they could pose quite the security risk. The things that they could listen in on without anyone even knowing it... quite a threat to personal privacy, not to mention Ministry secrets, should that person chose to misuse her ability... I suppose there is a reason that keeping such an ability secret and not registering it is punishable by a hefty fine, and if there's sufficient evidence that the ability has been used in unlawfully gaining information, a sentence in Azkaban for as long as a year... quite harsh, but I suppose that there is reasonable cause for concern."

Rita was practically twitching in her seat as she valiantly maintained her mask of indifferent interest. "Hmm, yes. Are you going somewhere with this, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh? I don't know, I suppose not. Just a thought that flitted through my head," Harry said, smiling innocently at her. However there was a glint of a threat in his eyes, and she swallowed thickly.

"What do you want?" she asked defensively.

"I don't want to be misquoted or misrepresented," Harry said, the innocent smile gone to be replaced with a coldness that was certainly not there a moment before. "Certainly not an unreasonable request."

Rita was back to that pandering smile again, although it was obvious that her nerves were still there, just carefully concealed. "Not unreasonable at all," she said, reaching into her purse, digging around a bit and finally finding a normal quill.

Harry gave her a small approving nod as she picked up her notepad and gave him a questioning sort of look.

"Shall we continue, then?" she asked, her voice coming out with a slight quiver to it.

"Be my guest," he said motioning with his hand for her to start with her questions.

– –

_It is impossible to explain one's self properly when in doubt and indecision as to what is to be done; but once resolved and decided, it is easy to find suitable words. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Pansy looked up from her copy of Witch Weekly with a slight quiver in her lower lip before looking over at Harry to whimper. "Is this true, Harry?" she asked, and as Harry looked up from his breakfast to find her starting at him in a way that he couldn't help but wonder if she were about to cry.

"Is what true?"

"Are you really gay?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, mostly," Harry said with a shrug of one shoulder before going back to his meal.

Draco choked and sputtered on whatever he'd been eating. Finally, he apparently cleared his windpipe and looked over at Harry in absolute shock.

"What?" Draco exclaimed, looking over at Pansy, obviously demanding to know why she'd just asked that. His eyes fell down onto the issue of Witch Weekly, clutched in her white-knuckled hands. Her lower lip was sticking out comically and quivering with her apparent misery. But then a flicker of hope seemed to appear in her eyes.

"Mostly?" she said, locking onto the one glimmer of hope in his response.

"Well, I can certainly appreciate a lovely lady, but I can't really get off on them," Harry said with a shrug. Someone a few seats down guffawed loudly.

"Potter, you've got bullocks of steel! I can't believe you came out in Witch Weekly!" Zabini said, laughing.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "It would come out eventually, and I see no point in hiding it. I'm not ashamed, and I have no parents expecting grandchildren, or putting pressure on me to continue the family line. It's my life and I'll do as I see fit with it. May as well get it out there now and deal with the public backlash while I'm still young so people can get over it and move on.

"It was also obvious that Witch Weekly wanted to turn my image into some sort of teen idol to appease their young girl audience. They weren't the least bit interested in talking about my academic achievements or my writings for MP. They just wanted gossip to get their readers frothing at the mouths. I gave them that, but I also cut off the hopes of all these potential future fangirls before it could gain momentum. I also had complete control over the delivery of the message, which is what I wanted."

"You're gay?" Draco squeaked and Harry turned his attention to the blond who was gaping at him it utter astonishment.

"Yup," Harry said simply with a nod and then went back to his food, ignoring the discussion around him for the next few minutes.

– –

_Of mankind we may say in general they are fickle, hypocritical, and greedy of gain._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

The school's reaction as a whole was about what Harry had expected. Of course, there were the offensive slurs thrown his way, mostly from the same crowd that had accused him of being a Dark evil git after his parselmouth ability first came out. This actually landed Ron and Seamus Finnigan in detention with McGonagall when she happened to be within earshot during one encounter between Harry and the two Gryffindors in an otherwise empty corridor.

Harry didn't pay any of them any mind and let the childish insults slide right off his back. It most certainly wasn't anything he hadn't heard or experienced before, and he felt rather desensitized to it by this point.

Draco had been acting strange for the first few days following the revelation; keeping a small distance from Harry, and constantly shooting him confused and speculative glances. And then, one morning, Draco was back to his old self, acting as if nothing had happened at all, and the subject wasn't brought up between the two of them again. Harry shrugged it off and was more than happy to not pay the subject any mind, because, honestly? It really wasn't all that important.

Slytherin house as a whole seemed a bit uncertain how to react. It was where the largest amount of hang-ups on that sort of relationship still remained since many of them were purebloods, and the purebloods were the ones that put the most emphasis on the importance of breeding (good breeding) and growing the wizarding population. Despite this, that did not mean that purebloods were specifically bigoted against homosexuals – it was more that it was part of their culture to keep such a thing a tightly concealed secret.

People would marry and produce an heir or two like they were supposed to, and then, as long as they could come to an agreement with their spouse that wouldn't result in public scandal, they would have a secret lover on the side. So long as no illegitimate children came of any side affairs, the family turned a blind eye. But it was always a _dirty little secret. _You were _supposed_ to just follow the rules. You get married, you have children, you gain power and money, and you keep anything else a secret so that no one can use it against you. It wasn't something that you just came out and told people about.

On the other side of the issue, the Slytherins were still very proud of Harry and weren't about to shun him for something like this. Harry's academic performance was well known at this point, even among the older students, and of course, no one had forgotten about his ability to talk to snakes and whatever implications one might come up with from that. And his consistent publications in MP magazine had gotten him quite an increase in respect, _especially_ among the older students. There was no doubt among the Slytherins that Harry Potter was going to be a powerful political player someday, and being on his good side was clearly a good idea.

Hermione had, of course, been outrageously proud of Harry after his 'coming out', going on about how he was setting a precedent of acceptance and blazing the trail for other young witches and wizards living their lives 'in the closet' for fear or public or familial persecution. Harry had just chuckled fondly at her and ignored the subject all together.

The only thing that actually surprised him was when _Voldemort_ actually brought it up during their bi-monthly scheduled 'chat' nearly two weeks later.

_'Didn't you say you'd been married to a woman?'_ Voldemort had written at one point when their other conversations had lulled from the article Harry had recently sent Voldemort that had been selected to go into the next issue of MP.

Harry blinked down at the page, because it really was quite a shift in the conversation, and rather unexpectedly too. But quickly he put quill to paper and wrote back.

_'In my first life – yes. Married her when I was 19, and was still married to her when I died. We had three kids; loads of grandkids.'_

Harry could feel the frustration, impatience, and curiosity curling in the other man's mind, and found it rather amusing that Voldemort seemed reluctant to just ask when he clearly wanted to know more.

_'Our sex life was abysmal,'_ Harry went on, deciding to cut the other man a break and save him from having to actually ask. _'But I did love her. I think it became more of the love one has for their best friend. We did eventually talk about the problems we had, but I think we wasted a lot of years pretending that nothing was wrong. By my late 30's we were sleeping in separate beds, and she took a few lovers over the years. We stayed together for the kids, but also because we never stopped caring about each other. Just the same... I know that she went through bouts of bitterness over the whole thing. I suppose that's why I never made a big deal about the other men.'_

_'So when did you realize where your true preference lie?'_ Voldemort wrote back a moment later.

_'I suppose I convinced myself that I was asexual for a while there, but by my 50's I'd come to terms with the fact that I fancied men. It wasn't until my second life that I finally let myself explore that aspect of myself and discovered that I actually love sex, I was just doing it with the wrong gender before.'_

After that Voldemort took the subject back onto some political topic that was apparently a big deal among the wizards of the Wizengamot at the moment, and Harry's sexuality wasn't brought up again between the two of them.

– –

_Many have imagined republics and principalities which have never been seen or known to exist in reality; for how we live is so far removed from how we ought to live, that he who abandons what is done for what ought to be done, will rather bring about his own ruin than his preservation._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

It was May, and the term was slowly wrapping up. Hermione was deeply embroiled in her end-of-year revision insanity, and Harry was looking forward to the coming holiday and making plans for traveling abroad for a holiday in southern France. It was once again morning and the Great Hall was filled with the sound of chatting students and the scents of breakfast.

Harry was only peripherally aware when the morning post owls began to swoop down into the hall, delivering morning packages, letters, and the newspaper. Witch Weekly came out on Mondays, and it was Friday, and it was mid-month so this months issue of MP had come out nearly two weeks earlier. Harry wasn't expecting anything at all, so he rarely paid the morning post much attention. The only thing that could possibly attract his attention would be something noteworthy in the Prophet, but he wasn't expecting anything there either.

Of course, he was wrong.

A sharp gasp from a few seats down, followed by a few more similar sounds, and the notable increase in the din of excited chatter finally drew his attention away from his eggs and he looked up just as Draco snatched the Prophet away from Zabini on his other side and stared in shock at the huge boldfaced headline beneath a photo of a surprisingly clean Sirius Black standing next to Amelia Bones.

_MINISTRY COVER-UP! CORRUPTION, LIES, AND UNLAWFUL IMPRISIONMENT! _

_Sirius Black wrongfully imprisoned, denied trial for a decade, ordered Kiss on Sight to cover-up Ministry Blunder! _

About half-way down the paper was another large headline and another picture – this picture featuring Peter Pettigrew, cowering behind bars. _REAL KILLER CAUGHT! PETER PETTIGREW NOT DEAD_. _POTTER'S TRUE BETRAYER UNCOVERED!_

"Huh," Harry said with slight surprise coloring his tone as he leaned over Draco's shoulder and skimmed the article. "Looks like he didn't kill the rat after all."

Harry made another humming sort of sound before turning his attention back on his breakfast and ignoring the many cautious and curious stares coming his way from just about everyone in the school. Harry did glance up long enough to notice Lupin was missing from the head table. His eyes slid from Lupin's empty seat to McGonagall who was looking utterly stunned as she stared down at the paper. Well, apparently _she_ hadn't been included in the loop.

Dumbledore was missing too.

Harry's table mates cautiously prodded him for a response, but Harry just gave them flat, uninterested looks and they eventually gave up, knowing better than to prod him when he clearly wasn't in the mood to offer up any information. It was an amused squawk from Draco that actually drew Harry's attention away from his plate and over at the blond who was reading the paper.

Draco attempted valiantly to refrain from laughing, so instead his shoulders shook and he snickered under his breath. This was a rather uncharacteristic show of amusement for Draco, so Harry couldn't help but be curious.

"It says in here that Pettigrew was hiding in his rat animagus form, in a large, wizarding family's home all these years, masquerading as a pet," Draco explained, smirking over at Harry. "It's blatantly obvious to anyone who's ever known Weasley that they're talking about his pet rat. Weasley would have to be an idiot to not realize the truth. That he spent _years_ with that disgusting man as his pet. I just hope I'll be there to see the look on his face when he realizes it."

"I don't know, Draco. Denial can go a long way and Ron Weasley is rather thick," Harry said, sounding vaguely bored as he went back to is meal _again. _He wasn't sure how he felt about Ron realizing the whole story with his rat because then he would wonder about Harry's involvement in the whole thing. "Do either of the articles mention me?" Harry asked as he finished off the last bit of his toast and pushed his plate aside.

"Only in so much as they explain the whole _fidelius_ betrayal thing _again_. How many times are they going to rehash that same story?"

"As many times as they can, I'm sure," Harry said with a resigned sigh.

"It also mentions that Black is your godfather. It's the first time I've seen the paper come out and say that – I guess they were afraid to say it before now," Draco mused, skimming through the paper again.

Harry grimaced, suddenly aware that this could generate some annoying complications for his summer plans if Black decided to try and seek guardianship. At the very least, it would result in people looking closer than he wanted, into where he stayed during the holidays.

"You met him that one time, right?" Draco asked, trying to sound like he was just asking about the weather, and not something actually significant.

Harry hummed in response and several people were now watching the two of them with carefully, but poorly, concealed curiosity.

"Do you think you'll go to the trial? He's finally getting one, apparently. Pettigrew's is first though. This whole thing has apparently been in the works a while, but they were keeping it quiet until the last minute, so Pettigrew's trial is tomorrow. Black's is next week."

"I don't really see any reason to," Harry said with a dismissive shrug as he reached across the table and grabbed the paper out from underneath Goyle's plate, since it was obvious the boy was done with it.

"I can't help but notice, Potter, that you don't seem all that surprised by all this," fourth year Malcolm Baddock mused from Goyle's left.

"I knew," Harry said simply as he smoothed the paper out before him and started reading the article for himself. "Didn't know if anything was being done about it, but I knew about Pettigrew, and I knew that Black didn't do it, or get a trial."

This surplus of information – as Harry rarely gave out even a sentence _that_ long at the breakfast table – drew in everyone's immediate attention. They leaned forward in their chairs, looking at him expectantly for several seconds before the frustration and resignation crossed their faces as it became obvious that Harry was done talking.

Breakfast finally drew to a close and Harry and his classmates made their way to Defense. Harry wasn't surprised when ten minutes into class it was obvious that no teacher was coming. It was Professor Sinistra who finally showed up to tell them all that they could take the block as a free period and didn't have to remain in the classroom, before she hurried off to do something else.

The students muttered curiously, exchanging some theories about Lupin's absence, but not much since the man did tend to miss a few classes every month. It's just that Snape usually subbed for the man during these days. This was the first time they'd apparently been unprepared for it. Draco, of course, kept giving Harry knowing smirks.

It was an hour later, just after class had gotten out and the rest of the school filled the halls and the courtyards as students made their ways to their next classes. Harry, Draco, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle were gathered in one of the courtyards in various positions around a stone bench and an old moss-covered statue, when a group of Gryffindors came through, apparently coming up from the greenhouses. Weasley came to a halt as he passed the group, scowling down at the group and holding his hands tightly balled into fists.

Draco stood up straighter and Harry could see a hopeful light filling his pale gray eyes as Ron slowly turned and pinned Harry with his eyes.

"Potter," Ron called out and Harry remained seated but raised a single eyebrow in response. "Can we talk?" Ron finally bit out, huffing in embarrassed frustration as the gathered Slytherins each stood there glaring at him.

Harry paused for a moment before giving a curt nod back, standing up, and walking over towards him. Draco instantly followed, sticking to Harry's side. Ron glared at Draco in obvious annoyance. "I didn't ask _you_ to –"

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco said imperiously as he tipped his chin up into the air.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Harry asked in a bored tone before the two could start up a row.

Ron gave one last glare at Draco before looking back at Harry and seeming to twitch uncomfortably and grimace with nerves. "Was... was Scabbers... I mean... he –"

"Yes," Harry said with an annoyed sort of impatient tone.

Ron's face went slack and his eyes widened comically.

Draco snickered.

"No, but I mean – h-he, he wasn't really – he was just a rat, right?" Ron stuttered out, shaking his head as if he had been hoping for an easy denial. Anything but this.

"No, Weasley. Scabbers was an animagus. I was casting detection charms in a corridor once, to see if I could do it, and your rat lit up like a glowing bulb in my vision."

"But – but why didn't you tell me!" Ron squawked in horror.

"Didn't think you'd believe me. You'd just think it was a trick or a prank or something. What business was it of mine, if _your _pet was really an animagus, anyway? At first I was just going to mind my own business and forget about it, but in the end, I couldn't let you keep some weirdo, hiding out, pretending to be a pe ratt, could I? Even if you are a git and a close-minded bigot."

"WHUT! I am not a bigot!"

"I mean, who knows what sort of person would pretend to be a young boy's pet? He could have been some sort of pedophile or something," Harry went on, ignoring Ron's outburst, and cutting him off – turning him quite green, in fact, with the insinuation. "I just hope you weren't sleeping with the rat on your pillow or something. Please tell me you had a cage that you put the thing in at night?"

Ron _definitely_ looked sick now.

"Anyway, I knew if I just asked for him, you'd never hand him over to _me_, but I figured if I offered to buy him for enough gold, you'd be willing to part with him. So I took the rat and turned him in. At some point they realized who he really was and I guess the rest just spiraled from that," Harry finished with a shrug.

Ron was grimacing deeply, but did manage to muster up enough strength to nod his head rather numbly before turning and walking away.

Draco snorted as soon as Weasley was gone. "How rude. Didn't even say thank you," he drawled, before his haughty expression shifted into one of utter glee and amusement. "Oh _Merlin_, Harry! That was brilliant! Did you see his face? Oh, oh! And when you suggested that Pettigrew might have been a pedophile! I thought he was going to lose his lunch, right here in front of us! That was absolutely the most enjoyable thing I've witnessed all month." Draco let out a contented sigh after that – the sort one would heave after eating an especially satisfying meal.

Harry just chuckled at Draco's obvious enjoyment of Ron's discomfort and the two returned to the other Slytherins and started making their way towards Charms.

– –

Lupin did reappear the following day, and he was watching Harry more closely than before, but didn't approach him. Harry could tell the man wanted to, though. It was as if he wanted to talk to Harry about Sirius and Pettigrew but couldn't quite work up the courage to do it. Harry had never really made himself very accessible to Lupin, so it was no wonder the man wasn't sure how to go to him if he had something of a non-school nature to discuss.

The Prophet was filled with news of Sirius, corruption, Pettigrew, Fudge, Crouch, and the other prisoners in Azkaban who had also been apprehended during the state of Martial Law. They would all be receiving proper trials now – or rather, the ones that were still alive would be. Most of them were already dead, though, and now any surviving relatives were demanding reparations from the Ministry. It was quite a circus, and Fudge was basically cowering in terror from the monumental political backlash.

Voldemort thought the whole thing was rather hilarious, when he and Harry wrote to each other that weekend – which Harry, in turn, found amusing, since he had never yet experienced such a state of mirth from the other man over their link. Voldemort wrote saying the whole scandal was a lovely distraction from certain things he had in the works at the moment, while also drawing attention to the incompetence of the current administration – and the last administration as well, for that matter, since the initial injustice had actually occurred under Minister Bagnold's term.

Harry said that he would like to claim it was all some brilliant plan, but admitted it was really just the convenient outcome of his own inability to leave well enough alone.

Despite this, Harry could tell that Voldemort was still quite pleased, and found himself enjoying the sensation coming across the link. Their talks were usually about politics, economics, and occasionally they actually talked about obscure magics. These were not topics that usually inspired giddiness – in fact the politics and economics tended to inspire irritation and frustration. The few times they'd talked about magics, Harry had picked up on intrigue and legitimate interest, but certainly not _giddiness. _

It was interesting to literally _feel_ that the Dark Wizard really was perfectly capable emotions outside of rage, annoyance, and pride. Outside of their bi-monthly talks, the link was kept firmly closed, so if Voldemort was experiencing other such potentially 'positive' emotions while they weren't real-time writing to each other, Harry obviously wasn't picking that up.

After that, it seemed like term came to an end in a flurry of revision, exams, excited rumors, and a continued stream of newspaper articles on Ministry blunders.

Pettigrew was found guilty at his trial, and Sirius was found innocent at his. He was declared free and clear, and given hefty reparations from the Ministry as apology. Understandably, few really felt like that was sufficient for such a heinous misdeed. Trials were also scheduled for the other wizards who had been apprehended and imprisoned during the weeks following the Dark Lord's downfall and the temporary marshal law establishment. It wasn't looking like any of them were actually innocent, so far, but there was really no telling, and it looked like a few of them had probably served more than sufficient sentences for the crimes they were accused of. They probably would have been released by now if they'd been properly charged and had a proper trial, but since they hadn't been, they'd basically been lost in the system with an assumed life sentence.

Harry peripherally paid attention to all of this, while looking outwardly disinterested. He refused to respond to any questions on the subjects, even when Hermione questioned him on it. Fortunately, she was distracted enough by revision and the end of term to leave the matter be fairly quickly, and Draco understood enough about what had happened, and Harry's involvement in it, as well as knowing Harry well enough, to know better than to question him.

So before anyone knew it, exams were over and term came to an end. Harry couldn't help but wonder, as he boarded the Hogwarts Express, bound for London, that Lupin's lycanthropy had never been outed, and the man had never been gravely injured, or done an especially bad job to warrant being fired.

Granted, Lockheart hadn't ever done anything, aside from being an incompetent moron, and hadn't been injured or openly fired, the year prior. But he hadn't been interested in coming back for another year, and thus, Lupin had been hired. But this was different, and Harry wondered if the man might actually be reprising his post the following year.

It made Harry wonder suddenly, about the 'curse' on the post.

Was it still in place?

With that thought in mind, Harry pulled out his protean-charmed journal and scribbled the question on the first available page along with a reminder that he'd be unavailable for a while, before closing it and putting it back into his rucksack.

Upon arriving in London, Harry made his way to Diagon Alley and directly to Gringott's. A trip to his vault was all that was necessary for him to ditch what he didn't need on his vacation, and pack up exactly what he did want to take with him – he'd packed his two trunks in preparation, so mostly he was able to just drop off one of his trunks and shrink the other to stow away in his rucksack over his shoulder.

After that, he downed one of his aging potions and donned a hooded cloak before Flooing to the Ministry to pick up the international portkey to France he'd arranged ahead of time. By the end of the day he was already comfortably ensconced in his hotel on the beach, in southern France, listening to the waves from beyond his open balcony doors and comfortably falling asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

– –

_There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Severus Snape waved his wand over the slowly simmering cauldron on the work bench in front of him to set the monitoring charm and timer spells to alert him when it was time for the next phase in the brewing. Fortunately that wouldn't come until later the following morning, so he was now free to relax for the remainder of his evening.

He was in his basement lab in his home on Spinner's End in Cokeworth, a large dying industrial mill town in the north of England. He honestly hated the house and all of the rather miserable memories he had attached to it, but it was his, and it was a place he could go and work and be away from the school he called home for the majority of the year.

It was presently early August, and there were only three more weeks before he would have to return to Hogwarts and once again face the responsibility of looking after one-quarter of the school's student population. Of course he'd be dropping in over the week prior to term starting to get his supplies in order for classes, and make sure that the dormitories and common room were properly arranged for the returning students. But generally he stayed away from the school as much as he could manage during the summer holiday months.

It was a vacation he felt he more than earned, considering all that he had to put up with the rest of the year. Of course this summer had not all been his, as he would have liked it to be. Dumbledore was slowly becoming more active, although what the man was being active against, Severus couldn't quite fathom since it was quite clear that the Dark Lord was still no where to be seen.

The old man had called a few meetings of his 'old crowd' together over the course of the summer. They'd been rather informal meetings and of course, there had been nothing actually accomplished, but Dumbledore had still asked Severus to attend to offer up his supposed 'insider' insight. Again, all he had been able to tell any of them was that he had not been called; had heard nothing of anything else being called; and as far as he knew, there weren't even any _whispers_ about the Dark Lord having returned.

He had been especially irate when he'd actually been asked by that blasted Emmeline Vance to _show them_ his Dark Mark just so that they could see that, yes, it had gotten dark again. The nerve!

Perhaps the most pathetic thing about the gatherings had been the location. Sirius Black was back in the group now, of course, and now that he was a free man and once again had access to the full riches of the Black Family estate, he had felt that his old childhood home was of so little value that he'd basically given it over to Dumbledore for them to use as the Order's new headquarters.

The house was a pit. Severus had thought that his own childhood home was a miserable hovel, but it was nothing compared to that rotting, infested, old house. He was plenty glad to put as much distance between himself and that house, as quickly as possible, at the end of each meeting. He'd also been more than ready to put as much distance between himself and Black as possible. It was bad enough that he'd been made to teach in the same school as Lupin for the whole school year, but at least Lupin was tolerable.

Severus knew that Potter had played a role in clearing the blasted fool, and he wished he could strangle the whelp for doing something that meant exposing himself to the filthy mongrel, Black, again. Although he was glad that the Dementors were finally gone, and he did find the political upheaval that had resulted from the whole debacle rather amusing.

Severus was just leaving the lab and heading back up the narrow staircase that emerged from behind a bookcase when a sudden unexpected pain shot through his left forearm and he had to quickly catch himself on the wall to keep from falling to his knees right there on the stairs. It took his mind a moment longer before it fully registered what was happening.

He was being summoned.

His body remained frozen in rigid shock for a moment before he finally let out a mental snarl at himself and jerked his body into motion. He raced the rest of the way up the stairs, pushing the bookshelf door closed behind him before rounding the corner and up another flight of stairs to his bedroom. There was a hidden compartment in the back of his wardrobe that he quickly released the wards on before digging around inside it to pull out the old set of black flowing robes and the bone-white mask that went with them. He held it in his shaking hand for a moment, just staring down at it with uncertainty before he closed his eyes, pushed all of his tumultuous emotions behind his iron-strong occlumency shields and striding back out into the room to don them.

Along with the summons was the knowledge of just where he was expected to apparate to, and as soon as he was garbed in the appropriate attire, he did just that. He closed his eyes, clutched his wand, and focused on the destination that the magic of the Dark Mark provided him with. He spun on the spot and disappeared with a loud crack.

He reappeared an instant later to find himself in a rather lavish entry hall of what appeared to be a very old manor – or possibly even a castle. Ancient tapestries lined the stone walls, making Severus lean more towards the castle theory. Another crack sounded and Severus turned to see the one who had appeared just behind him. The man was also wearing the black robes and skull-shaped bone-white mask, but his hood wasn't drawn up, and there was no mistaking that hair. It was Lucius.

Severus gave a quick incline of his head and Lucius returned in. Severus' gaze shot down to his arm as he felt the tingle of magic dancing along his forearm and with it, the knowledge that they were supposed to gather in a room down the long hall he saw stretched out in front of him. Lucius' gaze shot down the hall and he knew that the other man had felt it as well. Without a word the two began striding down the hall. Another crack, followed almost instantly by another, alerted them to others apparating into the space they had just left.

Severus glanced over his shoulder to see that both figures were in black robes and masks, but from this distance he couldn't yet tell who they were. He pressed on, opting to focus on more pressing matters first. He heard the two men also begin to make their way down the hall as another crack echoed through the space. Lucius and Severus turned at a pair of open double-doors and found themselves entering a large hall with no furniture, bare flagstone floors, and stone walls now lacking any tapestries but lined with ornate light sconces holding candles burning with eerie green lights.

There were already two robed and masked wizards there, both fidgeting and looking around anxiously. Judging from the build of one of them, Severus was fairly sure it was Caius Goyle. The other one, who had his hood down exposing his short cropped blond hair was probably Thorfinn Rowle.

The three that had apparated in after he and Lucius, entered the room a moment later and the eight wizards gathered silently in the center of the room, looking around cautiously. Another few cracks sounded from down the hall and after another ten minutes of standing around with no sign of the Dark Lord, the group had grown to fifteen in total. Severus was pretty sure he knew who most of them were. Waldon Macnair was there for sure, as was Avery, Gibbon, and Jugson.

A few dared to mutter quietly to each other, but for the most part, all remained quiet. Silence instantly fell upon the room as a door towards the back opened and out stepped... _Was that Bartemius Crouch's son?_ Severus was almost positive that he'd been sent away to Azkaban along with the Lestranges. Hadn't he heard the boy died there?

Crouch held the door open while he bowed low at the waist. Before anyone else even appeared, Severus could already feel the approaching presence. The level of magical power tingling in the air was nearly palpable and an involuntary gasp slipped past his lips. The tall figure that strode powerfully out of the door was clad entirely in black with long flowing robes and a tall pointed hood that hid his face in shadow.

It was clearly a spell that was keeping the figure's face mostly obscured. Some illumination reached his lips and chin and Severus could see an accomplished smirk gracing thin shapely lips. A small red glow seemed to emanate from the man's eyes and it sent shivers down his spine.

The gathered group of wizards wasted no time in falling to their knees, and lowering their faces to the floor, because there really was no denying that this was the Dark Lord. The magic in the air; the _power_ that oozed off the man; the way the air seemed to shift and distort around him, as if the very forces of nature bowed before him. And if that weren't already sign enough, Severus could feel his Dark Mark reacting to the man's presence.

Surprisingly enough it wasn't actually painful. Not really. It was almost intoxicating feeling just how powerful the man standing before him was now; feeling the man's magic as it licked out across the large room, touching everything. It was so much greater than he remembered. Had he simply forgotten, or had the man actually become _more_ powerful?

Voldemort came to stand at the head of the group of men on their knees before him and an accomplished smirk spread across his lips. He _had_ missed this. He would have this again. Only more so, and he would be sane enough to properly enjoy it.

"My dear, _loyal_ followers," he said in a low, almost sarcastic sounding tone as he stood before them, head tilted up and looking down at the gathered wizards. "It has been such a very – _long_ time since we last gathered; has it not? Rise, so that you may look upon me," he commanded and they all instantly did just that. But only so much as they were now kneeling only on a single knee and were upright and facing him.

"My Lord! Please forgive us!" Avery cried out and threw himself forward on the ground, directly in front of the Dark Lord prostrating himself before the wizard.

Voldemort sneered and stepped forward to press a bare foot that emerged from beneath his heavy black robes, against the man's head, pushing it to the side and pressing the man's cheek against the cold flagstone floor.

"Forgive?" Voldemort asked in a cold, deathly quiet whisper. "You ask for forgiveness when you have all gone on, all these years, living comfortable lives, free and clear, while I spent a decade as a bodiless wraith? Did you have no faith in your master? Did you truly believe me defeated? Me? Who had walked further along the path towards immortality than any other wizard before me?"

Heads were back to being bowed and Avery was whimpering and whispering 'forgive me' over and over, although it was rather distorted given the fact that his face was still being crushed into the floor.

Voldemort pulled his foot back, once again hiding it beneath the robes and took two steps further back from the group before turning to face them again with a superior, cold gaze across what little of his face was visible. "And yet – despite the many years that have passed, you all have returned to my side, given little to no warning at all. For that... I give you some credit. You could have refused to come. Some did. Of course, those who have been foolish enough to run away will likely come to greatly regret such a grievous error..." he trailed off, and a rather sadistic smirk found its way onto his lips.

"Much has changed these years," he continued, "you have all aged, grown wiser, I would hope, and some of you have grown into powerful players in your own right. Many of you have spent these years continuing on the great fight, despite the oppressive state of the Ministry after my unfortunate fall. For that, and for your continued service, you will be rewarded. For such positions and machinations will now be the foundation for our efforts to once again restore Britain's wizarding world to the great power it once was. To restore the free right to practice magic without oppression from incompetent, pandering politicians who throw themselves at the feet of the muggle governments when they make demands based entirely on ignorance and fear.

"We will take back magical Britain, but this time we will do it like I started to, decades ago, before I lost my way. You see – many things have changed these many long years, not the least of which was... _myself_. I was defeated the night of Samhain, 1980 not because Harry Potter possessed some spectacular, mystical power, to repel evil, but because of my own _mistakes_. My arrogance and my insanity brought on by seeking too much power through the wrong means. I had lost sight of my own goals and my methods, _years_ before my unfortunate incident with the Potters, but it was that night when my mistakes coalesced into the perfect series of unfortunate coincidences, and it was my own power that destroyed my body. Nothing the boy did brought about my end," he paused and looked out over the group of wizards who were all watching him with rapt attention.

"Harry Potter did, however, play a role in my return, and most especially a role in my return to full power and sanity," Voldemort said and a very slight amused smirk curled the corner of his mouth at the stunned eyes and shocked parted lips he could see from those in the group. "For that, he has earned my forgiveness for his association with my temporary demise. The boy is under my explicit protection and anyone who dares to lay so much as a finger upon him will suffer my wrath," he hissed threateningly and glared out over the crowd.

Voldemort paused again, looking at the group speculatively for a moment before speaking again. "Lucius," he hissed and Lucius straightened his back, coming more to attention now that the focus was on him. "Thirteen years ago I entrusted you with an object of my own creation. I told you of a plan I had recently, at that time, developed. A plan where, when I said the time was right, you would smuggle the object into Hogwarts in the hands of a student – preferable a first year. One gullible enough not to question the nature of the item when it began to act unusually. I told you that doing this would lead to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, deaths of the muggleborns, and would lead to Dumbledore being expelled from the school for his inability to protect the students. Is this not correct?" he asked airily.

Lucius' eyes were wide and Severus could tell that the man kneeling beside him was sweating with nerves. Whatever this was about, it was obvious that Lucius was now extremely nervous.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius rasped.

"Tell me, Lucius... where is the object _now?_" Voldemort asked in a quiet, threatening, voice.

Lucius' jaw floundered for a moment and he swallowed. "I – I do not know, my Lord."

"You tried to pawn it off on Borgin, after the Ministry raided your home for Dark Arts artifacts," Voldemort sneered and Lucius' eyes widened further, clearly surprised that the Dark Lord knew this. "But he wouldn't take it, would he? He took one look at it and knew it was mine."

"I – he... yes, my Lord," Lucius said, lowering his head. "Certain factions within the Ministry have never forgotten my association with you, my Lord, and they have been especially persistent these last few years in trying to hinder my work in the Wizengamot and the House of Lords."

"What did you do with the object, Lucius," Voldemort asked in a cold, quiet tone.

"I... I slipped it into the possession of a first year student that was bound for Gryffindor. I suspected the child would be naïve and gullible enough that she would not question the object and would take it with her to Hogwarts. Her father is an opponent of mine in the Ministry and he had been working on a piece of legislature that would have pushed back a great deal of the progress myself and others have made over the last decade. The legislation was being sponsored by Dumbledore and was gaining a lot of favor in the Wizengamot. I was hoping that, by following through with the plan, both the child's father and Dumbledore would be discredited. I did it only for the cause, my Lord," Lucius said in a tone that nearly bordered on begging, but of course, a Malfoy was above such things.

Voldemort made a humming sound and paced slowly back and forth in front of Lucius Malfoy who was back to bowing low.

"Yes... and it is this reason alone that I have chosen not to punish you for your actions. Know this, Lucius – if I leave an object in your possession with the order to protect that object until I say otherwise, I expect you to _protect that object_," he hissed angrily and Lucius flinched. Voldemort stopped and tilted his head up, looking down at the man prostrating himself before him. "Do you want to know what happened to the object, Lucius?" he asked, and it was obvious that 'no' was not actually an option.

Lucius raised his head slowly and looked at the Dark Lord questioningly.

"Harry Potter intercepted it. You should be grateful, Lucius. Very grateful indeed. The boy likely saved your life. I guarantee that if anything had happened to the object in question, you would not have survived the full wrath of my fury," he finished in a low, angry hiss.

Lucius' mouth parted in shock.

"Potter not only intercepted it, he protected it and returned it to me later that year. Severus – you are close to Potter, are you not?" he asked and Severus nearly flinched at having been so suddenly called upon.

"I suppose you could say that, my Lord," Severus said.

"You are the boy's Head of House? You are his _favorite_ professor," Voldemort went on, and an amused smirk was just barely visible on his lips. "You even covered for the boy when he snuck off school grounds in order to come and visit me, the spring before last – yes?"

Lucius' head snapped to Severus and the potions master could see the man's shock clear in his silver-gray eyes.

"That is correct, my Lord," Severus answered flatly.

"Potter has you under a secrecy contract," Voldemort went on, still smirking. "Clever young man, isn't he? You have been unable to reveal anything that he told you, to anyone else, because of his precautions. But you are not held under such a binding now. Can I truly trust that you will not run back to Dumbledore now and tell the old man all about my return?"

Severus lowered his head subserviently. "You have my total loyalty, my Lord. It has been nearly a year and a half since I first learned of Potter's true loyalties and goals, and not everything that I have observed or learned about the boy is protected by the contract he conned me into signing. There are loopholes, my Lord, and I am certainly capable of finding and taking full advantage of them. I have had plenty of opportunities to leak information or give hints to Dumbledore, but I have not. I will not. I am loyal only to you, my Lord."

Voldemort observed him for a moment. "We shall see," he mused softly. He turned his full attention back on the group as a whole. "As I'm sure some of you have surmised by now, I have been back among the corporeal for more than a year now, and yet I waited until now to call you before me. I have not spent this time being idle, I guarantee you that. I have making plans, preparing and laying a foundation for our future work. Now... you will help me."

– –

"You've known he's been back!" Lucius hissed accusingly, and Severus simply heaved a tired sigh as he walked past his old friend and into the man's study to take one of the seats by the fire. Lucius glared at him for a moment before huffing and following to take the other seat. He flicked his wand and a cabinet on the other side of the room opened and out sailed two tumblers and a bottle of scotch.

"How long?"

"It is difficult for me to say, Lucius. Did you not hear what the Dark Lord said? Potter has me under a secrecy contract, and it is very well made. It also has considerably harsher punishments for breaking it than the one your son signed," Severus bit out slightly bitter as he accepted one of the tumblers while Lucius filled it with the amber liquid.

"Bloody Potter," Lucius growled, sounding far more frustrated than actually angry. He took a drink from his glass and stared into the liquid for several contemplative moments. "I simply cannot seem to work out that boy. He makes no sense."

Severus let a small snort escape him before hiding his face behind his own glass for another small sip. "Don't even bother trying, Lucius. You would _never_ guess the truth."

"But you know it?"

"I know enough to wish that I didn't," Severus said, giving the blond a pointed look.

"I don't believe that. You would never rather _not_ know."

Severus sat back in his chair and gave a noncommittal shrug. "Perhaps."

They were quiet for another moment. It had been a while since the two of them had shared a drink like this. Severus would not admit it, but perhaps he did miss this.

"I simply cannot believe that _Potter_ has been in contact with the Dark Lord, all this time..." Lucius mused quietly, shaking his head in slight disbelief. "He said some things during his stay here last Yule... but this was not something I had foreseen."

"What sorts of things?" Severus asked.

"He said that the reason Dumbledore refused to tell the Minister where he'd been hiding Potter all those years wasn't actually for Potter's safety, but was actually the result of the old man having _lost_ Potter the night he deposited him on his chosen guardian's doorstep. However, when I asked Potter where he _had_ ended up, the boy remained very tight lipped. In fact, he remained tight-lipped on basically every subject I asked him about," Lucius said, obviously annoyed. "Even more frustrating, he was clearly amused with how annoyed I was with his silence."

Severus snorted. "That sounds like him," he muttered.

"The only conversations we had that were productive at all were when we discussed pubic policy and his writings. I have to admit I'm still stunned by how intelligent he clearly is. I would never believe I was dealing with a teenager if I were not looking right at him..." he trailed off and then pinned Severus with his eyes. "He is, really Harry Potter, isn't he?"

Severus cocked a single brow. "Yes, Lucius. He really is Potter."

Lucius seemed to sag. "Well, I suppose that's one possible theory out the window."

"What were you suggesting? That he was really someone else, impersonating Harry Potter?" Severus asked with a mixture of incredulity and amusement.

"He doesn't seem like a thirteen year old. He clearly has real-world experience backing his ideas and his writings. He _knows_ too much. And not just from books. I would also swear he has real, practiced, political experience. He _understands_ how the system works like an insider would. I don't care if whoever raised him was an insider, it is not information that can be passed on so thoroughly. There is clearly something more to Harry Potter. Some piece of the puzzle that I'm missing..." Lucius trailed off, looking into the fire with a frustrated pucker creasing his forehead.

Severus sighed and shook his head. "Don't bother working yourself up over it, Lucius. Unless Potter decides to tell you, you'll never work it out, and I am unable to tell you."

"Do you think the Dark Lord knows?"

"I am sure that the Dark Lord knows far more about Potter than even I do.

– –

_I am firmly convinced, therefore, that to set up a republic which is to last a long time, the way to set about it is to constitute it as Sparta and Venice were constituted; to place it in a strong position, and so to fortify it that no one will dream of taking it by a sudden assault; and, on the other hand, not to make it so large as to appear formidable to its neighbors. It should in this way be able to enjoy its form of government for a long time. For war is made on a commonwealth for two reasons: to subjugate it, and for fear of being subjugated by it._

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Harry said goodbye to France and returned to Hogwarts for his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The summer had been utterly brilliant, and he had enjoyed abandoning all of his responsibilities and doing practically nothing of value, the entire two and a half months.

Jörmy had greatly enjoyed the warm weather and had laid out in the sand while Harry reclined in a beach chair reading, or napping. Harry hadn't even bothered to write anything, opting instead to be as lazy as humanly possible. But his holiday was over and he now had to return to reality.

The start of term revealed a few things that he had already partially suspected. Remus Lupin had been able to return for a second year as their Defense Professor, and there would be no Tri-Wizard Tournament. The later bit made Harry rather pleased because it was an unexpected boon from his meddling with Pettigrew and Sirius.

Thanks to the scandals that had come from the whole denial of a fair trial thing, Crouch Sr. had resigned from his position within the Ministry and gone into early retirement. Bartemius Crouch Sr. had been the strongest proponent for reinstating the Tri-Wizard Tournament in Harry's previous lives, and it had been primarily that one man's work that had brought everything to fruition and brought about the tournament's return. Without Crouch, there was no tournament. It had been in the work for some time – Crouch had apparently been trying for more than a year now to get it going in hopes of drawing back some public attention to him and drawing him out of political obscurity. But once the scandal had hit and he had resigned, the whole thing had fallen apart, and thus – no tournament.

Not that Harry would have allowed himself to be forced into competing again, anyway. He'd been in it during his first life, and willingly gone through with it again in his third life as part of the 'gameplan' he had going during that life, but he had never been in it since then. And this life, there would be no tournament at all, and for that, Harry felt quite satisfied.

Harry had not kept up his bi-monthly chats with Voldemort over the summer, but finally wrote in the protean-charmed book during that first week back at school, asking the man if he wanted to resume them now, and what time would be best for him.

Voldemort had written back that very evening that, yes, he would like to resume them, and they set the time for every-other Sunday night at eleven.

While Harry had not had any real-time talks with Voldemort over the summer, they had written back and forth on a few occasions, so Harry had eventually gotten an answer to his curiosity about the Defense Post curse. Voldemort said it was definitely not _gone_, but that he wasn't putting any magical emphasis on it at the moment, so he suspected it had gone somewhat dormant since his return. He said he could easily restore it, but Harry asked him not to while he was at Hogwarts – stating that if he had to endure going through school over and over again, he'd rather that, at least while he was there, he not be stuck with an utterly incompetent teacher.

Voldemort hadn't cared much one way or the other at the moment, so left it dormant.

Over the summer, through their very few exchanges of information, Harry also learned that Voldemort had finally called some of his old followers to him, although it had really only been mentioned in passing, so Harry did not yet know any details. During their first 'real-time chat' through the books, the second week Harry was back at school, Harry learned a few more details. Namely that the Death Eaters were aware of his involvement in Voldemort's return and had been ordered to keep this fact secret, and to refrain from ever causing Harry any harm, under threat of immense pain and eventual death. In fact, he'd even gone so far as to pass the umbrella order that, if ever they found themselves in a position where Harry was in some form of danger and they could do something to help him or prevent a complication, that they were to immediately lend aid.

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to feel about this. He knew he shouldn't be that surprised that Voldemort had taken steps to guarantee the safety of his one and only remaining horcrux, but Harry was mostly surprised that Voldemort had felt it appropriate to inform his minions of Harry's loyalties at all. Still, he didn't honestly think it would be that big of a problem, even if the truth did get out to the wrong parties. It would basically just be the point where he had no choice but to leave Hogwarts, and he didn't exactly think that was all that awful of a thing. He was really only continuing the charade at this point because it was the simple thing to do. He didn't plan to over-complicate things unless things over-complicated themselves.

However, Voldemort seemed convinced that there was nothing to really worry about. He may not have his minions under an airtight secrecy contract, but they were Marked by his magic and there were safeguards in place to prevent blatant betrayal. Harry wasn't entirely sure what Voldemort might mean by this, especially since Harry knew for a fact that in many of the previous goes at his life, Snape had in fact betrayed Voldemort quite consistently. But he didn't think it was a big enough issue at the moment to really argue the point.

Aside from Voldemort revealing to the Death Eaters that Harry was on his side and shouldn't be hurt, Harry also learned that Voldemort's minions had been kept ignorant as to Voldemort's current public alter-ego. He had apparently seen fit to keep it a secret from them, and as such, Harry was asked to maintain that secret as well. Harry had no problem with this, honestly. It wasn't like he actually interacted with a lot of Death Eaters all that often, except for Snape, and they rarely discussed those things.

Once Harry was fully caught up on what little information Voldemort was interested in giving him at that time, the two slid right back into a discussion on a set of lost arts that had been banned in Britain several centuries ago, and potential ways to reintroduce them to the public without the negative stigma associated with them because of public ignorance. One of Harry's books that he was considering moving forward on publishing, was an in-depth examination of corruption and public manipulation leading to the banning of many forms of ancient magic by misleading the masses into believing there was something wrong with them, when there really wasn't. It was a very sensitive subject, so it was one that had to be approached delicately.

Before leaving for his holiday, Harry had sent a copy of the book in it's current state, to Voldemort – or to Marcus Verus, rather – and the man had apparently made a number of revisions and edits to it.

The third week back at Hogwarts, Harry received this edited version back, through owl post, and their next discussion was mostly focused around the suggested changes. Things continued on much in this vein for the following months. Harry still wasn't ready to publish any of his books, but he had never stopped sending essays to MP Magazine, and the magazine had never stopped printing them. He'd been told that his articles tended to be some of the most popular, and the commissions he was receiving for his work were growing in size, which was a good thing since he'd been slowly draining his savings for the last thirteen years with very little outside income.

Not all of his writing was instantly popular with the same crowds though – in fact he covered controversial topics all around. In the December issue, his article had debated the validity of the blood purity arguments, and weighing the benefits versus the consequences of too much inbreeding.

It had actually been a bit of an experiment in testing the waters, since another of his larger books was on the very same subject. The book went much further, going so far as to analyze the origins of the prejudices, the societal factors that propagated them, and suggestions for better integrating muggleborn and muggle-raised witches and wizards without sacrificing their culture and beliefs and thus, inspiring the continued bitter resentment of the outside influences.

Harry wanted the book to include a comparative case study featuring the magical power levels of notable halfbloods and muggleborns in comparison to purebloods. He informed Voldemort how he'd actually been part of such a study much later in life in one of his previous lives, and already knew the sort of results to expect – he already had several chapters of arguments based on the results, in fact – the problem was that he needed to perform the case study here, in this lifetime, and he didn't currently have access to the people to do such a thing.

Voldemort had then suggested having Harry's article on blood purity printed in MP so that they could drawn in attention and he, as Marcus Verus, could commission the study be performed. Harry found this suggesting amusing and interesting and had gone along with it. Those that had gotten up in arms over the subject of the article had then been challenged to prove it wrong by participating in the study. It had already been quite effective in drawing in some candidates.

Outside of his writing career and his interactions with Voldemort, the rest of the school year had been predictably boring so far. He still spent most of his time with Draco Malfoy, primarily because Draco would have it no other way. Any other time spent socializing was spent with Hermione because she was nearly as persistent as Draco.

Harry actually found it somewhat amusing that he had somehow ended up 'best mates' with Draco this time around. It was even more amusing that Draco and Hermione had somehow managed to tolerate each other since they both wanted to maintain their friendship with Harry. Then again, the two didn't have to interact all that often since Hermione only really hung out with Harry during Potions class and when Harry was in the library by himself. Whenever Harry was in the library with Draco and the other Slytherins, Hermione still tended to keep her distance unless she had something specific to speak to him about.

Theo had remained rather frigid towards Harry up until shortly after the article the previous year revealing Harry's preference towards boys. Then, like a light switch, Theo's attitude had thawed and now, one third of the way into their fourth year, they were back to being perfectly sociable – if not particularly close. Harry figured that his outing himself had ended his threat as a rival for Pansy's affections. Pansy still fawned over Harry, but by the time this year had started, Pansy seemed to have accepted the fact that Harry wasn't ever going to fall madly in love with her and her affections towards him had taken an oddly different direction.

In fact, Pansy had become a rather consistent source of bewildered amusement for Harry this term since she had decided that they were now 'girlfriends'. She would come to him for his opinion on her clothes, her hair style, and to chatter about which boys around the castle were the cutest. Draco had blanched and sputtered incoherently the first time he'd encountered Pansy talking to Harry about which boys in Slytherin had the nicest arses, and Harry had had a good laugh at how pink Draco had gotten when Harry had chuckled and agreed with Pansy that Draco really did have the best arse out of any of the other Slytherin boys.

Outside of Pansy's acknowledgement of it, Harry's sexuality never really came up much, although Hermione did suggest that he write an article about sexual prejudices and submit it to MP Magazine. Harry had discarded the idea instantly, on principle, but also pointed out that that really wasn't the sort of subject matter they tended to cover, anyway.

Hermione was always eagerly trying to make suggestions, and offer up her assistance, on Harry's writing, and had made herself his official proof reader, whether he liked it or not. He didn't really mind though, and even bounced ideas off her from time to time. Not all that often though. That fell more often to Voldemort, actually.

Around the same time that Harry's article on blood purity had come out, the Malfoy's once again extended an invitation for Harry to stay with them for the winter holidays, and Harry graciously accepted. Thus he once again rode the Hogwarts Express back to London where he and Draco were greeted by the elder Malfoy's, and quickly side-along apparated to the family's manor in Wiltshire.

This time there were two days before the family's yearly Yule Gala, and the reminder of it put a small grin to Harry's lips as he knew he would see Voldemort there.

That evening at dinner, Lucius eyed Harry almost constantly while Narcissa rained questions upon Draco about how life and school was going, even though Harry knew that Draco wrote home at least once a week and had probably already told his parents all of these things in writing before now. When the meal was finally finished Lucius stood and asked Harry if he would join him in his study, and since Harry had honestly been expecting something of the sort, he saw no reason to refuse.

It was obvious, by the pout now present on Draco's face, that he was less than thrilled to have not been invited along with them. However, Harry wasn't going to say anything because chances were high that sensitive things were going to be discussed. He'd fill Draco in on some things later on, probably.

Harry followed Lucius Malfoy to his personal study where he was led to one of the fine leather arm chairs beside the hearth and offered water from a pitcher there while the elder Malfoy poured himself a glass of wine from a cabinet behind his desk. Harry considered asking for some of the wine instead, but decided against it. Finally both were settled in chairs and Harry waited silently for the blond to speak.

"So, Mr. Potter... I have been told that I have you to thank for my continued good health," Lucius drawled, eyeing Harry critically.

"Oh?" Harry asked, slightly amused but only just barely showing it.

"Yes... my Lord tells me that you intercepted an object that I had slipped into the possession of one of the first year students, several years ago, and then returned said object to the Dark Lord."

"Ah – the diary. Yes. I took it from Ginny Weasley's cauldron only moments after you gave it to her, actually," Harry said with a small grin, feeling his amusement bloom as it was obvious that Lucius had _not_ honestly expected to get such a direct answer out of Harry. "I knew it was far too precious an object to allow it into the hands of a Weasley."

Lucius' expression went from triumphant surprise to suspicion instantly. "But how could you possibly know such a thing?"

"I could feel it. The book held a piece of the Dark Lord's magic within it, and I could feel that power," Harry answered with a one-shouldered shrug.

Another moment of surprise flashed through Lucius' Malfoy's silver-gray eyes, but it was quickly masked with skepticism. "I had that book in my possession for many years, Mr. Potter, and while I will admit that when directly handling it, I could sense a certain level of magic within it, I have never experienced any sense of my Lord's magic upon it from a distance."

Harry eyed Lucius with a bland smile for a moment and cocked his head slightly to the side, debating if it was too early to start revealing details, or to wait until after the gala. Deciding that there _were_ certain details he wanted to clue Lucius in on before hand, he grinned and pressed on.

"The Dark Lord and I share a powerful magical connection, forged when we were connected by the killing curse and the magic that punished him because of a series of mistakes that were mostly caused by his insanity at the time. I can feel him whenever he is near because of this connection. But I can also sense things that contain strong bits of his magic, like that diary did.

"Because of this connection, I could speak with him, even now, sitting here in this room with you, no matter how far away he may be. We keep the connection between us closed most of the time out of mutual respect for each other's privacy, and because neither of us really care enough about what the other is doing on a day to day basis to bother spying on each other, but should an emergency ever arise and I need to contact him immediately, I can, quite easily."

The light of dawning understanding flashed in Malfoy's eyes along with a look of accomplishment – no doubt he was thrilled to have finally gotten a small bit of the Harry-Potter-puzzle, pieced together. "So that is how you did it? How you were able to get in contact with the Dark Lord and assist with his resurrection, so long before any of the rest of us knew he was not truly gone?"

"That is a big part of how I was able to do it," Harry said with a conceding tilt of his head. "It also helped that he was possessing Quirrell during my first year at Hogwarts," Harry added in a thoughtful tone a moment later.

Lucius' brows raised into his forehead. "Quirrell?" he echoed almost incredulously.

Harry hummed and nodded his head. "Quirrell took a one year sabbatical before taking on the Defense post, but the real reason he went away during that time was because he had dreams of doing something _great _– something that no one else had dared to do or succeed at before him. He was going to find the Dark Lord. So he followed the whispers and the rumors, and then the clues, and he did end up succeeding in finding the disembodied spirit of Lord Voldemort and then was promptly possessed for his trouble. While at Hogwarts during that first term, he managed to steal an object that Dumbledore was keeping protected there, and then he left," Harry finished.

"And you were able to tell that he was there, possessing Quirrell, because you could sense his presence?"

"Yes."

"Hn," Lucius hummed out, sounding vaguely pleased, and leaned back in his chair with a small smirk.

"So the gala is in two days?" Harry asked, conversationally.

Lucius looked up, seemingly startled slightly by the shift in topic. "Hm? Oh, yes. Narcissa will likely not be very available over the next day since she'll be busy with preparations. I'm sure you and Draco can keep yourselves entertained though."

"Not a problem," Harry said, grinning slightly. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? It's getting fairly late and it was a long day on the train."

"No, that's quite enough for now, I suspect," Lucius said with a gracious nod as he stood up and Harry followed a moment later. Just before Harry got to the door, he paused, buried his smirk and turned to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, before I forget. The Dark Lord will summon you the night of the gala. Probably late, though, but it's still possible you might be called during the party so you might want to be prepared for that. Good night, Mr. Malfoy," and with that Harry pulled the door open and left the gaping man behind him, before he could call him back in and question him further.

– –

Draco was annoyed. It was bad enough that he had to spend the last half hour greeting all these Ministry idiots and their dates, like a good host, but now he'd been straight up ditched by his best mate.

His duty wasn't _that_ awful a task when Harry was beside him and he could turn to his friend to make some quiet snide remark whenever the bothersome guest finally left him to go wander around and gossip about the other guests, but now he was alone with no company to keep him entertained at all. Worst of all, he and Harry had literally been in the middle of a conversation when Harry had suddenly turned to the main entry door of the ballroom and – and – _smiled!_ His face had lit up brightly, and Draco didn't think he'd ever seen such an expression on Harry's face. Not once, in the nearly four years he'd known him.

It wasn't like Harry never smiled – no, in fact Harry seemed to get amusement out of a lot of things; usually someone else's confusion or discomfort, but Draco could definitely appreciate that. But Harry's sly smirks, amused grins, and tight polite smiles were generally fairly subdued. He never really looked _happy_. Not like this. But at that moment, Harry had looked legitimately excited about something, and Draco had been surprised by just how tight his chest got at the realization that he'd never been able to make Harry look like that.

Then his mother had walked into the room with another man beside her, talking politely as she did with all guests she greeted, and Draco had instantly recognized the man in question. It was that Marcus Verus man from last year's Yule gala. What's more, the man didn't seem to be paying Draco's mother even the slightest bit of attention – _how rude? – _but was instead scanning the ballroom in Draco and Harry's general direction, as if searching for someone.

The man's eyes had almost instantly found Harry's, and the sly grin that spread across the man's face caused some sort of angry flame to suddenly erupt in Draco's chest. What was worse was that Harry had instantly started to walk towards the man, not even bothering to say a parting word to Draco. The man, at least, paused to say something to Draco's mother before he left Narcissa's side, walking straight for Harry. The two met and ended up over by one of the walls, talking for the next twenty minutes while Draco stood some distance away, watching, and fuming.

Harry was _his_ friend; _his_ guest! He should be paying attention to Draco! Honestly, Draco probably wouldn't have even been all that upset if Harry were just mingling and making contacts like people were supposed to do at these sorts of events. But instead, Harry was spending all this time just talking to one man. Who the bloody hell _was_ that man, anyway? Draco realized that they obviously knew each other, and the whole thing made Draco wonder again about what had happened at the previous year's yule gala where Harry had asked Draco what this Verus man's name was and had, for some inexplicable reason, found it rather humorous.

Draco had suspected that Harry already knew the man, even back then, and what Harry had said seemed to suggest that Marcus Verus might not be the man's real name, but a name the man had made up.

The two couldn't possibly look more different, standing there, and yet they also _didn't_. Verus was wearing a very fashionable and proper wizards dress suit with a frock-coat sort of jacket, all in black except for a white undershirt with high collar. Harry, in contrast, had gone a very different direction with his formal wear, managing to go more old-fashioned and yet still look brilliant. He was wearing a white renaissance styled shirt with those ridiculous voluminous poofy sleeves that then came to tight long cuffs that were almost the length of his whole forearm. The cuffs were even tied the whole length with white ribbons that dangled loosly at his wrists.

Over the shirt was a very form-fitting emerald-green satin doublet with a high collar and black embroidery around edges and around the the polished opal buttons that went down the center. Black tailored trousers that showed off Harry's arse quite nicely – _not that Draco was looking at such a thing_ – completed the ensemble. He wasn't even wearing a cloak! But Harry didn't tend to wear flowing robes or long cloaks outside of his school robes, so Draco really wasn't that surprised. Harry very much preferred trousers, and Draco had to admit that Harry did look a lot better when he wasn't all covered up by mountains of fabric.

Draco had watched the pair's brief interaction during last year's gala and it had seemed at the time, that Verus might not actually like Harry all that much. The man had mostly looked annoyed, while Harry had almost looked as if he were teasing the man and getting quite a bit of enjoyment out of trying to rile the man up. Admittedly, Harry only really bothered to tease people he was already fairly close with. Most people he was just cold and polite to. He always kept his distance and put up a ten foot high wall around himself to keep everyone out.

So even then, at last years gala, Draco had to admit that the pair had probably known each other already. But their interaction had been so brief, and the man had so clearly been annoyed that Draco hadn't given the matter much attention. But now – now it was quite clear that their relationship was far closer. And far warmer.

Draco found himself standing stiff as a rod to hold in the annoyance he felt surging through him as he observed them. Harry kept _touching_ the older wizard. Just little brushes with his fingers or knuckles; small, almost subconscious gestures. Harry leaned into Verus, and was grinning _far too much_ for Draco's liking. Whats more, the other man was leaning right back in. He kept smirking, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement at whatever they were discussion. His expressions were more restrained, but Draco could still see the other man was pleased.

And Harry was _still_ smiling.

He even laughed. That bright, ridiculous laugh that Draco had only heard a small handful of times. One time, in fact, had been when Harry had learned that this very wizard was named Marcus Aurelius Verus – or _using_ the name Marcus Aurelius Verus, as the case seemed to be.

That burning flame of irrational anger was burning hotter and brighter than ever by the time it had been a half hour since Draco had been ditched. They were _still_ talking. They'd even blown off a few rather politically significant people who had come up to talk to either Harry or this Verus guy. Draco himself had been ignoring his own host duties while he stood watching the two and boiling with his – his – _jealousy. _ But it wasn't jealousy because that was ridiculous. What was there to be jealous of? Harry was _his_ best friend. This man was an adult. A grown man and honestly, how often could Harry even see this man?

Draco wondered suddenly if maybe Harry had spent some time with the man over the summer. Harry had said he spent the whole holiday in France in some cottage by a beach... Draco was fairly sure he'd seen a few photos of this Verus man in Wizards and Witches magazine, over the summer. His mother read the blasted thing almost religiously, as it was a far higher level of celebrity and political gossip than that teen-rag Witch Weekly.

The man attended all the important events and social functions and kept a fairly high profile among the more politically powerful in the Ministry. Draco wasn't sure how much time he could have found to run off to France during such a busy social schedule, but with as much money as the man seemed to have, Draco supposed he could have a personal international portkey. Draco's own father could easily get such an exception made for himself, but Draco was rather irked by the idea of this man also having access to such a privilege.

Before last year, Draco had never even heard of this blasted wizard. The thought of him having such influence or sway at the Ministry was annoying. Especially now that Draco realized that he seemed to have influence and sway over _his best mate._

Maybe they knew each other because of all of Harry's work in MP magazine? Did Verus have something to do with MP? Draco didn't think he'd ever read anything that could connect this man to the well-read political magazine, but had to admit he hadn't _really_ been paying the man all that much attention. The only reason the man's name had stuck with him at all was because of Harry's reaction to him at last year's gala.

Draco bristled suddenly as Verus' hand came up to rest on Harry's forearm over the long laced-up shirt cuff, just resting there – _but staying there_. And Harry didn't brush the hand off as he normally would with anyone else – because you _don't touch Harry Potter. You just don't._ No, Harry leaned into it and his eyes got this weird look to them. Draco just couldn't stand it any longer. Something deep in his chest was just too worked up by all this to keep standing there.

Draco quickly strode across the room and came to a stop beside the two who were still engaged in a muffled conversation. He stood as tall and proud as he could and put on an air of impatient disinterest as he waited for an opportunity to interrupt them, which was a bit difficult as it was obvious they were using a spell of some sort of hide their conversation from any who would eavesdrop.

Harry _finally_ realized he was there and turned slightly to face Draco. Despite the movement, Verus' hand remained where it was, and this irked Draco fiercely for some reason.

Harry waved his hand in a small subtle gesture, but Draco felt the muffling spell expand to encompass him as well and tried not to flinch at witnessing another display of impossible magic from his friend. It was so common, he really ought to be used to it by now.

"Draco! Is something up?" Harry asked.

Draco clenched his jaw for a moment before tipping his chin up haughtily. "I was just wondering if you intended to return to the rest of the party. You've been over here for more than half an hour."

"Has it really been that long?" Harry said, turning and grinning at the man, "Time flies when having fun, huh?"

Verus seemed to make a half-aborted eyeroll, but the corner of his lips turned up.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Verus asked then, motioning towards Draco.

"Oh, sure," Harry said. "Er – M-_marcus_, this is Draco Malfoy, Lucius' son, and one of my friends from school. Draco, this is Marcus Verus."

Draco didn't miss now Harry had almost stumbled over the man's supposed first name, nor the amused grin on Harry's face as he said it. Draco's annoyed curiosity peaked.

"So how do you two know each other?" Draco asked, trying to maintain an air of aloof disinterest and not show how damned curious and frustrated he actually felt.

"Oh, Marcus and I go back a _long_ way," Harry said, grinning over at the other man, who _snorted_ quietly under his breath.

"Really?" Draco drawled skeptically. "Did the two of you spend time together over the summer?"

Harry looked almost confused by that question and shook his head. "Oh no. I was quite firmly isolated over the summer. I actually haven't seen Marcus here since last Yule. Weird to think it's been a whole year since we've seen each other."

"Really? You two didn't seem all that close at last year's gala. If you haven't even seen each other in a whole year, where did – _this _closeness come from then?" Draco bit out despite himself and his hand jerked towards Harry's arm where Verus' hand still rest.

The two seemed to look down at the hand with surprised looks as if they hadn't even realized they were doing it. Verus almost instantly jerked his hand back, as if he were burned. A moment later he were looking at the hand as if it had somehow betrayed him. Harry's lips parted and looked at the other wizard and then his own arm for a moment before pulling himself back and turning his attention back to Draco with an innocently confused expression.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, Draco."

Draco felt a sneer grace his lips as his annoyed frustration only grew. "Oh, I'm sure you don't," he bit out almost angrily.

Harry frowned and his brows drew together. He moved in closer to Draco, putting his back and a few feet between he and Verus. "What's up with you, Draco?"

"Nothing is up with me," Draco spat defensively, tilting his chin up and trying to puff out his chest. "I can't help but wonder what is up with _you_ though! You've been leaning in to him, letting him _lean into you_. Getting into your personal space and _touching you!_ How do you know him, Harry? Who the devil is he?"

Harry reared back slightly, looking surprised and mildly confused. "Leaning in? Touching? Draco, he only touched my arm, I don't see –"

"That was hardly the only time, Potter. I've been watching the two of you for the last half hour. You've been all touchy – both of you."

"Draco, I think you're really over-reacting to this," Harry said, looking at Draco as if he had gone somewhat mental. Honestly, Draco knew he'd be horrified at his own behavior at some point, but he couldn't quite seem to stop himself, now that he'd started.

"I am not over-reacting!" Draco hissed out angrily.

"Draco, you need to calm down," Harry said in a warning sort of tone.

"I do not! Who is that man? What right does _he_ have to touch you?" _When you won't even let me do it?_' – went unsaid in Draco's mutinous mind.

"He's a trusted ally, and _honestly_ – a friend. I hardly see how this is any of your concern, Draco."

"What makes him trusted? Last Yule you didn't even know his name. You haven't seen him in a year – how can he be a 'trusted ally'?"

"I've written to him quite regularly over the last year, so it's hardly as if we haven't spoken since last Yule, we just haven't met in person. And – honestly? A year ago I didn't know what name he was using _now_, but I've known him nearly my whole life."

"So he _is_ using an alias!" Draco exclaimed in a triumphant whisper.

Harry rolled his eyes before pausing and pinning Draco with a surprisingly fierce stare. "You can't tell anyone about that," he practically commanded.

Draco glared back. "I can do whatever I please. We're not in the dorm room now, Harry. There's no contract binding what I can and cannot say."

"Draco, you're being irrationally hostile. What the hell is your problem? I don't even care about the bloody contract. I'm just telling you, for your own good and for your father's sake, that you can't go around spreading rumors about Marcus."

"My own good?" Draco exclaimed, affronted. "How can you suggest –"

"Honestly, Harry, if Lucius' spawn is causing trouble, I could just oblivate him. This is taking far too much time," Verus drawled impatiently.

Draco turned and glared angrily at the man. "You wouldn't _dare!_ If my father knew that you'd even suggested such a thing, he would kick you out so fast –"

"Draco, _Shut Up._" Harry snapped harshly. He reached over and grabbed Draco's shoulder rather roughly and quickly dragged him some distance away, pushing him against an empty stretch of wall and leaned in close, erecting another muffling charm around them with his wand this time. "I don't know what has gotten into you, but you need to shut the hell up, before you get yourself killed," Harry hissed warningly as he leaned in so close their faces were practically touching.

"Killed?" Draco squawked.

"Draco, you need to use that normally rather cunning brain of yours, for one bloody second and put together a few rather significant details. Now, Marcus appeared out of nowhere, the summer after our second year, right?"

"Right..." Draco said slowly.

"And I told you that during the spring of our second year, I went and paid a certain Dark Lord a visit and helped in the full resurrection of his physical form – _right?_"

"You... He –" Draco trailed off, his eyes flying over Harry's shoulder to the man called Marcus Verus who was leaning against a wall, looking bored and impatient, and then back to Harry with wide, dawning horror. "No!"

"Yes!" Harry hissed.

"He's the Da –"

"Yes, he is. Now listen, Draco, and listen good. You tell anyone about this and you're dead. That's it. Dead. It doesn't matter who your father is, or what reason you had to tell. You're dead. This isn't like our secrecy contract where the only real consequence is green skin and painful boils. I'm talking about you _dying_ because you couldn't keep your irrational emotional outburst under control and learn not to open your mouth when it's not appropriate! Now do you finally think you can stop acting like a child, or do I have to obliviate you?"

Draco blanched and took a step back from Harry, feeling overwhelmed and terrified all at once. Finally, Draco gave a jerky nod of his head and Harry gave a more firm nod of his own in return.

"What – what about father?" Draco asked, not even entirely sure what he was asking.

"Lucius will know the truth tonight. But even then, you should just keep your mouth shut. Pretend you don't even know – that no one else knows. Don't talk about it with anyone for any reason. Do you get me?" Harry asked with a firm, almost demanding tone and Draco found himself nodding shakily again.

"Alright."

"Good." Harry heaved a sigh and his features softened some. He gave Draco an almost exasperated, but fond, sort of smile. "What was that all about, anyway? Why do you even care if he was touching me?"

Draco felt his neck and face grow hot and cursed his pale complexion, knowing that he was probably as red as a Weasley's hair right now. He dipped his head, unable to meet Harry's eyes and shrugged in embarrassment. Honestly, he wasn't even sure _why_ he'd gotten so worked up.

Harry heaved another sigh and shook his head. "Well, whatever. We can talk about it later. I've got to get back. He and I don't exactly get a lot of opportunities to meet in person, obviously. Are you okay now?"

Draco swallowed and forced himself to stand up tall and face Harry. "I'm fine."

Harry nodded his head again and a moment later he was dispelling the muffling ward and returning to the man who was apparently the Dark Lord in disguise. Draco felt as if he were in a state of shock and wondered if maybe he'd be better off letting Harry obliviate him. It was dangerous knowledge he'd just gained, and he knew that. What's worse, it was clear that the Dark Lord now knew that he knew, if the threatening glare the man was shooting him was anything to go by.

Draco made a strangled sort of squeaking sound deep in his throat before swallowing it down and turning to stride stiffly across the ballroom, to find something to distract him.


	12. Chapter 12

– –

_Politics have no relation to morals._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

"You didn't even consult me," Voldemort hissed irritatedly the instant Harry returned to his side, re-entering the circle of muffled sound they'd erected more than a half hour earlier.

"You're telling Lucius tonight anyway – what does it matter?"

"Telling Lucius is not the same thing as telling Lucius' son," he snapped, clearly annoyed.

"Yeah, but I have to live with the whiny git for ten months out of the year – I also know Draco and his moods enough to tell that if I didn't do something drastic right then and there, he was liable to run off and make a scene or run his mouth off to inconvenient individuals. This way he'll keep his mouth shut because he realizes how big a deal it is."

"Will he?" Voldemort asked with pointed skepticism.

"Yes. He will. Draco knows better than to risk the anger of the Dark Lord. He's been hearing tales of you his whole life, and I don't think that the things Narcissa said were always the most flattering in regards to your temper and your tendency to randomly torture people for only minimal or non-existent reasons."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly with obvious irritation for a moment before his features smoothed some and he gave a conceding sort of nod with his head.

"Still – I'm not sure what exactly got into him," Harry went on thoughtfully. "But he's fourteen – fourteen year-olds are all hormones and irrationality. Not to mention that Draco's a spoiled little thing. I understand him most of the time, but sometimes I just don't know what's going on in that blond head of his."

"It seems obvious to me that he was jealous," Voldemort said, looking down and smirking.

"I sort of got that vibe too, but what's there to be jealous about? That I wasn't paying enough attention to him? I hardly spent any time with him at last year's Yule gala and he didn't seem to give a damn then." Harry shook his head and gave an exasperated huff. "But whatever. He did mention something else though –"

"Hmm?"

"Well he was going on about how the two of us were all 'touchy' or something."

The corner of Voldemort's eye twitched while the corner of his mouth pulled down. "Touchy?" he echoed derisively.

"Yeah, apparently that weird hand-on-the-arm thing he pointed out wasn't the only time one of us had been touching the other. He said he'd been watching us for the last half hour and we'd been doing things like that the whole time."

"I think I would have noticed something like that," Voldemort said, looking affronted.

"Well, yeah, I'd think that too, but I didn't even realize you were touching me until he walked up to us earlier, and..." Harry trialed off and frowned thoughtfully, "you know, I sort of..." he trailed off again and raised his hand slowly, bringing it closer to Voldemort's arm clad in the long-sleeved dress robe jacket that resembled a mix between a modern-day tuxedo and a vintage frock coat.

Voldemort watched Harry's approaching hand with a barely concealed look of horror, but made no move to stop Harry or step back.

The moment Harry's hand came to rest on the other man's arm both of their eyes widened.

"Oh... that is familiar," Harry almost whispered. "It's sort of... warm," he went on softly, staring down in fascination at the point where his hand was resting on the cloth-covered forearm of the wizard opposite him.

Voldemort made a strange sort of strangled humming noise in his throat, and his eyes were also locked on the point where Harry was touching him.

"It's rather... disconcerting to think that we might have been involuntarily brushing up against and touching each other for a whole half hour and not even been consciously aware of it," Harry mused absently as his fingers brushed gently along the fine material of Voldemort's frock coat. His finger tips sort of _tingled_ with the movement, and he mentally noted how soft the material was and made a mental note to ask where the man had his dress suit made.

It was such a curious feeling he was experiencing at the simple touch. Much more than a tingle in his finger tips. Overall it was very quiet; sort of in the back of his mind and humming its way through his veins so subtly that it had escaped his awareness up until the moment he was actually paying attention to it. But it was nice. And there was a yearning component to it. A yearning for something _more_. The thought whispered through the back of his mind that the feeling would only intensify if they touched bare skin to bare skin, but he quickly pushed it away as not really all that important.

"Malfoy's spawn really said we'd been – _touching_, for the last half hour?" Voldemort asked dubiously.

"It's possible he was exaggerating as to just how often it happened, but I doubt he had much reason to flat out lie about it. And I _can_ see him getting uppity about it since I don't let people touch me. I mean, I _don't let people touch me_. It's a thing for me..." Harry frowned and twisted his mouth up a bit, looking thoughtful. "I usually really _hate_ being touched, actually, so that just goes to show how strong this... _whatever it is_, was at slipping past my notice. But honestly, this is sort of soothing – don't you think? In a weird, magical-influence sort of way."

Voldemort grimaced as if it pained him to admit to anything of the sort, but his eyes were pulled back down to where Harry's hand still rested on his arm and he did finally give a reluctant sort of tilt of his head. "I suppose the sensation could be described as... pleasant."

"It's probably related to the horcrux," Harry mused, thoughtfully.

Voldemort heaved a bit of a sigh and nodded. "It's the most likely explanation. You _are_ holding a piece of my soul, and you've already stated that you had always been able to sense any other horcruxes near by you –"

"And I can sense _you_," Harry added with a nod. "Quite strongly now, in fact, since you gotten almost all of your soul back in one piece. It was practically overwhelming when you first arrived. You know... I bet that's part of what pissed off Draco."

Voldemort arched a single questioning eyebrow.

"I think he and I were in the middle of a conversation when you showed up, but I was so drawn to your magic that I think I just walked away from him without even saying a word." Harry snorted and shook his head. "No wonder he was pissed off. Malfoy's don't like being blown off like that."

"Serves him right," Voldemort muttered. He looked away, a thoughtful expression on his face before his eyes suddenly widened and shot down to his hand and arm. Harry's hand was still resting on Voldemort's forearm and his fingers were still making little unconscious circular motions there, but Voldemort had apparently just realized that his own hand had come up and he was fiddling with the spot on Harry's forearm where the the satin ribbons lacing the long forearm cuffs of the white renaissance-style poet's shirt closed, came out and tied in a small bow.

Voldemort dropped the ribbon and his arm rather suddenly, pulling it out of Harry's loose grip. Harry blinked and frowned at the movement. Now that he was consciously aware of that warm, pleasant sensation coursing through him at the contact, he was that much _more_ aware of it being taken away. A small pout appeared on his lips but he quickly pushed it aside, knowing how ridiculous it was to protest the removal of contact when neither one of them were 'touchy' people by any stretch of the imagination.

Instead, Harry tried to remember what they'd been talking about before Draco interrupted them and derailed their conversation, for the sake of getting things back on track.

"Oh! Right! We were talking about that new bill that Marrick Conners is sponsoring, before Draco showed up, right?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, we were. Yes, the man is becoming increasingly annoying. The level of his stubborn incompetence is equally as frustrating as the level of power he wields. It's utterly ridiculous that he's managed to inherit a total of five seats in the House of Lords, not to mention the elected seat he holds in the House of Commons."

"He's ambitious, but stupid. He's nothing but a simpering, spineless, pandering _Politician_," Harry said with a sneer, emphasizing his disgust with the word 'politician' as if it were an especially dirty word. "He was still around when I became Minister in my third life, and was causing me just as many headaches then. The man has no agenda outside of growing his own wealth and influence, and holding on to it as tightly as he can manage. Things are still early on in his political career right now though, so I think it would save us a lot of trouble to deal with him early on."

"_Deal_ with him, you say?" Voldemort asked with an amused smirk. "You almost sound as if you're suggesting the man be made to _disappear_."

"Well, that's entirely up to you. I'm just telling you that he's going to continue to be a problem for a long time to come," Harry said with an aborted eye roll. "It's not like he _has_ to be killed, but maybe a good public scandal would help reduce some of his support in the House of Lords and guarantee he doesn't get re-elected to his seat in the House of Commons."

"I don't suppose you have any especially useful dirt on the man?"

Harry twisted up his mouth in though but finally just shrugged. "Nothing that I know of this far back. Later on – as in, like ten years from now, I guess – there was a scandal about him being caught in a brothel, naked with an unconscious call-girl and doped up on illegal narcotic potions. But that's not _now_, is it?"

Voldemort sneered in disgust. "No, it's not. I'll have someone begin digging into Conner's private life to see if anything juicy turns up. If nothing turns up, it may simply be easier to make him mysteriously disappear."

"Or maybe even a magical accident with an obliviate charm. Turn him into a drooling comatose and get him a permanent bed at St. Mungo's. His son's an idiot too, and if Conner's dies, his seats go to his son. If he's basically comatose, he's still alive and his seats will just go unvoted until he finally dies."

Voldemort's brow rose and amused glee sparkled in his eye as the corner of his mouth turned up. "My, my, Harry, I must admit that the more I get to know you, the more I like the way you think."

Harry blinked in surprise, not having really anticipated something like that from the other wizard. Some part in the back of his mind also noted how weird it was for the man to call him 'Harry', and he had to pause for a moment to wonder just why that was. It did occur to him finally that when they wrote to each other in the protean-charmed books, neither one of them ever really addressed the other by their names. There wasn't much point since there was no question as to who was reading the book. It was literally impossible for anyone outside of the two of them to read the books.

He supposed that the last time Voldemort had actually addressed him by a name was the previous Yule, at which time, he'd just called him 'Potter'.

Harry shook his head a bit, refocusing on the topic and pushing the honestly inconsequential matter to the back of his mind.

"Did you look into what would be necessary to gain control over your seats in the House of Lords before you reach your majority?" Voldemort asked then, drawing Harry's attention back more fully.

"Hm? Oh, well, it's not something I can do right away, but I do know what steps I would have to take to do it."

"Well?"

"_Well_, first I have to take my OWLs. The earliest that the Ministry will allow a student to sit their OWL exams is age fourteen, so I can do it this summer if I go to the Ministry. I'm already planning on having it scheduled for the week after term ends."

Voldemort's brows raised slightly. "Are you intending to try and get moved ahead a year at Hogwarts for next year?"

Harry shrugged. "That will probably happen. It hardly makes sense for me to be taking the OWL classes if I'm already working on prepping for my NEWTs. So after that I have to take my NEWT exams and the Ministry won't let me do that until one year after passing at least five OWLs, so I have to wait until the summer after my fifth year for that. Only after I've passed at least five NEWTs, can I start making any attempts towards declaring myself legally as an adult. I'll only be fifteen, but that's only two years short of the normal age of majority, so it's not a huge stretch.

"If I can get myself declared an adult, _then_ I can file to have my Lordship recognized early, and take control over the various seats I've inherited – of which, I have _quite a few_," Harry said with a smug, predatory grin.

The House of Lords was one half of the Wizengamot – the House of Commons being the other half. Both Houses were responsible for legislative duties in the Magical Government of Britain.

The House of Lords was occupied by people who gained their votes through right of hereditary peerage. Unlike the muggle system, the members of the House of Lords could have rights to more than a single vote – those in the House of Commons only got one vote on any issue, but Lords could inherit more than a single seat – and often did. Families with seats would often intermarry, but they did not want to lose rights to all of their seats.

For example, a man with four hereditary seats had three daughters, but no sons. He could give some of the seats to his children when they reached certain ages, or leave them to his children upon his death. For example, his eldest daughter, could get one seat, and she marries another man who has four seats inherited from his family. They would then have five seats combined. If they had only one child, that child will likely be given one voting seat upon reaching seventeen for learning purposes, and when he got older and had gained more trust from his father, he would gain more. It was a cumbersome system, but it had been in place for a very long time.

It was also one of the reasons it had become fairly common practice in the last century for Pureblood families to only have a single child. The more children they had, the more split up their seats would get. Instead of one heir holding a lot of power, each heir would only have a little power, and maybe none at all. After a few generations, you'd have fewer and fewer seats to split around. But with a single heir that married another witch or wizard holding seats, you would only grow your total power and influence.

"From what I'd seen the Potters had an average number of seats for a moderately respected pureblood line, but nothing all that special," Voldemort mused with an unspoken question clearly voiced in his eyes.

"My grandfather, as I'm sure you remember, was Charlus Potter, and by the time his father, Hadrian Potter, had died, Charlus was Lord over three seats. Charlus married Dorea Black, the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black the Third, and Violetta Bulstrode. Violetta had two seats to her name, and had held on to them most of her life, and ended up giving one to her daughter Cassiopeia, and the other to Dorea. Most of Cygnus' seats were eventually left to his eldest son Pollox, but he did leave one to Dorea, giving her two. Charlus and Dorea only had one son, my father, James Potter, so he got five seats in total upon their deaths in 1978."

"Five is decent, but nothing to brag about," Voldemort pointed out.

Harry's grin grew wider. "No, it's not. But that's not all I've got."

"I _know_ you didn't get anything from your mother's side, so where would you have gotten any others?"

"Ah, but as you know, when a Lord has no heir, they can will their seats to whomever they wish. Over the last decade, a few different Lords and Ladies have left their seats to me, in their wills," Harry explained and the gleam in his eyes seemed infectious, because Voldemort's grayish-blue eyes were now showing an equally triumphant gleam.

"No doubt, they left _you_ those seats because of their... _gratitude_ for your miraculous defeat of the big bad Dark Lord, and hoped that you, being the heroic beacon of the light, would put their seats to good use in the future," Voldemort said in an ironic tone.

Harry chuckled. "No doubt."

"So how many seats have been left to you these last few years?" Voldemort asked, leaning casually against the wall beside him.

"Nine."

Voldemort's eyes widened and his brows raised into his forehead slightly.

"Nine?"

"Nine," Harry echoed, smirking quite widely.

"So you have a total of fourteen seats? All to yourself?"

Harry let out a cackle, but managed to keep it slightly quiet – their muffling charm made their speech unintelligible, but not totally inaudible. "That I do," he finally said, looking quite pleased.

"Merlin..." Voldemort whispered before a greedy gleam seemed to glow in his eyes and Harry caught the slightest hint of a flash of red before it was gone again. "That will be... very beneficial."

"Yes it will. I made good use of those votes in my third life, and many subsequent lives since then. I'll admit I remained almost completely ignorant of it all in my first life, and only took advantage of them a few select times in my second. I was still rather against politics in general and convinced myself that I had no business trying to muddle in such matters."

"Such a waste," Voldemort mused airily.

Harry just hummed and shrugged.

"So we have to wait at least two years before the opportunity to gain control over these seats will be available?"

"Right," Harry confirmed.

Voldemort sighed, "Well, it could be worse."

"Are you ever going to be able to reclaim your seats as Lord Slytherin?" Harry asked.

Voldemort scowled slightly and looked away. "Obviously, not anytime soon, since it is documented as to who held those seats last and laying claim to them would obviously draw unwanted attention and investigation. It is unfortunate. I held eight seats myself by the early seventies – of course, I gained many of them the same way you gained the majority of your seats; having witches and wizards who were especially loyal to me, will me a seat or two upon their death."

Harry got a thoughtful look and tilted his head slightly. "I wonder if anyone has tried to will any seats to Lord Voldemort since then? Do you know?"

"No doubt the Ministry would have seized any such seats and redistributed them to whatever individuals they deemed most deserving of them."

"So, whoever paid them the most," Harry said with roll of his eyes.

"Precisely."

– –

_It is necessary for him who lays out a state and arranges laws for it to presuppose that all men are evil and that they are always going to act according to the wickedness of their spirits whenever they have free scope_

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Lucius Malfoy was anxious, and that frustrated him greatly. Potter truly was an outrageously frustrating child, and Lucius had spent much of his free moments over the last few hours – no, _days_, honestly, cursing the boy's name. Ever since Potter had given him that warning about the Dark Lord summoning him tonight, in fact.

Of course, Lucius had managed to corner Potter the day after the revelation and demanded an explanation, and _of course_, Potter hadn't given him one. Honestly, Lucius supposed he should consider it a gift from the old gods that Potter had actually told him _anything at all_. The boy was incredibly secretive – with obvious cause, but at the same time, it was outrageously frustrating to Lucius to find himself constantly taunted with secrets he did not have access to. There were times when he wished he could just slip a bit of veritaserum in the boy's drink and _finally_ have his questions answered, but Lucius was far too focused on his own continued health and wellbeing to do something so monumentally _stupid_.

The Dark Lord had been quite explicit in his warnings about anyone who dared to harm Potter in any way, and it was obvious that Potter was in command of some of the Dark Lord's own secrets. Knowledge could in fact be detrimental to one's health if you happened to know things that certain powerful and occasionally homicidal individuals, didn't want you to know. If he took information from Potter – even if he were to successfully obliviate the boy afterwards – Lucius was still sure that _somehow_ the Dark Lord would find out and Lucius would pay dearly.

So no. He couldn't do anything to Potter. It didn't change the fact that he was frustratingly curious and annoyed at being kept in the dark by a mere child.

He was also anxious about whatever it was that was apparently going to happen later that night whenever the Dark Lord finally called him. Knowing that a summons was going to come, but having no idea _when_ was quite possibly even more maddening then simply not knowing it was coming at all. He suspected Potter knew this and that was why Potter had seen fit to 'warn him'. It was all a mind game. Potter clearly got his amusement by messing with people and Lucius _hated_ being messed with.

The blasted party was finally winding down. These things always lasted much longer than Lucius would have preferred. At least when he wasn't hosting, he could leave whenever he liked, but as it stood, he had to remain as the polite host until every last one of the blasted pandering simpletons finally saw fit to leave his home. Even Narcissa was beginning to look tired – although, only Lucius could really see it, and he only saw it because he knew her so well.

He knew that if he had to suddenly disappear and leave the guests solely in her capable hands, she would make him pay for it later, but she would also understand that he really had no choice. Still, Lucius hoped that perhaps the summons wouldn't come until all of the guests had left.

No such luck, apparently, as Lucius suddenly felt heat flare up in his left arm. He flinched momentarily, but the reaction was mostly masked. The pain wasn't all that bad, honestly. Quite mild in comparison to the level of pain that usually came with a summons during the Dark Lord's first reign. Of course, back then, the Dark Lord had clearly taken quite a bit of satisfaction in seeing people in pain and groveling before him, even when they were his own loyal followers. The Dark Lord now, however, didn't seem quite so obsessed with others suffering, and instead seemed far more focused on his goals and present agenda. It was something that left Lucius with a small glimmer of hope that he refused to voice outside of his own mind. It would be admitting that he had held doubts in the first place, which was _not_ something he would ever admit to anyone.

Lucius excused himself from the man he had been speaking with, caught Narcissa's eye and gave her a pointed look. There was a flicker of worry and then resignation before her calm cool facade was firmly back in place and she gave him a small curt nod.

He wasted little time in leaving the hall and was about to make his way towards the entry hall where he could apparate from when he registered that the pull of the Mark was calling him, not _away _from his home, but down the hall towards his own study. This gave him serious pause for a moment. The Dark Lord was..._ in his home_.

Forcing down the urge to tell Narcissa to take Draco and leave, he turned back the other way and began to stride towards his study. He pulled in one last deep breath to center himself and push away his nerves before grasping the handle and pushing the door open.

The first thing he saw gave him instant, annoyed, pause. Sitting – no _lounging_ – sideways in one of the armchairs that sat opposite his personal desk, was _Potter_. He had his legs up over the arm of the chair, crossed casually, and looked annoyingly comfortable. It was certainly a position that Lucius would never allow someone to take in one of his office armchairs. He bristled slightly at the sight, and even more so when Potter turned his head lazily and gave Lucius a lopsided smirk. Lucius was, however, pulled almost instantly from his annoyance by the familiar low hissing voice of his Master.

"Ah, how nice of you to join us in such a timely fashion, Luciusss. Do, come in," the Dark Lord spoke softly and Lucius wasted no time in closing the door behind him, taking two quick strides forward so that he was now in the center of the room and fell gracefully into a kneeling position with his head lowered in deference.

"My Lord," Lucius spoke smoothly in greeting, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor.

"I hope you don't mind I let a guest into your study," Potter said and Lucius could _hear_ the smirk on the boy's face.

Lucius decided it was in his best interest to not respond to that remark because he was unsure he could keep his obvious annoyance out of his voice. This boy was truly irritating to a monumental degree.

"You may rise, Lucius," the Dark Lord's smooth voice echoed through the otherwise quiet room, "after all, this is your home."

Lucius hesitated only a moment before standing tall, chin up with his normal cold indifferent mask upon his aristocratic face. He took a moment to take in the scene before him; the Dark Lord was standing behind Lucius' desk, beside one of the many bookcases, seemingly only just having stepped away from his perusal of the material held there. He wouldn't actually find much all that _interesting_ there. Lucius' best books were hidden from any potentially unfriendly eyes. After that raid on his home a few years ago, he'd been even more cautious than before – and he's _always_ been cautious.

The Dark Lord was a shadowy, ominous figure draped entirely in long black robes with heavy cowl to magically obscure most of his face as was always the case these days. The only real illumination in the room was that of the flickering orange and red from the fireplace and a few sparsely lit candles. The man seemed to _flow_ as he twisted slightly and walked over to place his hand on the back of the fine leather wingback chair that sat behind Lucius' desk, pulling it out and then gracefully placing himself in it.

"Sit, Lucius," the Dark Lord commanded lightly, waving his hand towards the other arm chair opposite the desk and diagonally placed beside the chair Potter lounged in so casually.

Lucius gave a quick incline of his head before moving around the chair and taking a seat in it. He kept his head high because he was a Malfoy, and until the Dark Lord demanded constant submission, he would not lower himself to it. If the Dark Lord _did_ make such a demand, he wouldn't hesitate, as he prioritized being alive over his pride, but so far the Dark Lord had seemed surprisingly lenient on this issue.

"I have decided it is time to make you aware of certain aspects of my work that have been kept secret from most all of my other followers up until this point," the Dark Lord began as he leaned forward and brought his elbows up onto the desk and laced his fingers together in front of his face. Lucius' attention was definitely caught and he sat perhaps a bit straighter than he already had been. "As I'm sure you have realized by now, I have been back for quite a number of years now, before I even called you and my other old followers back to my side. I spent that time building up a sort of alter-ego for myself so that I would be able to take a more direct role in my plans involving the Ministry. I have also been using that time to lay the foundation for a great many of my plans.

"However, I have reached the point now where taking on this task entirely on my own is no longer convenient, and as such, I am now going to be enlisting your direct services as well. In that vein, you will need to be aware of just who I have been masquerading as these last year and a half."

The Dark Lord paused for a moment and Lucius found himself almost literally on the edge of his seat, however he was above such displays and kept most of his anticipation deeply buried.

The Dark Lord sat back in Lucius' office chair and his hands came up slowly to the cowl that cast his features in shadow. He wrapped his fingers around the fabric and with almost agonizing slowness pulled it back, breaking the spell and revealing his face to the flickering firelight of the dim room.

Despite himself, Lucius' eyes widened in surprise at the smirking face he saw there. The next moment he was almost desperately running through his memories of encounters with the man, trying to recall any instance where he might have been blatantly disrespectful to the wizard who had secretly been his Lord in disguise all along. He didn't think he had been, but he couldn't be sure and that thought slightly terrified him.

The Dark Lord's nimble fingers quickly moved their way down to the clasp at the neck of his cloak and with a few simple gestures the whole front of the robe released and he pushed it open and off his shoulders. He was still wearing the same dress robes he had worn to the gala, minus the outer cloak he had been wearing earlier. Lucius supposed it was possible that he'd transfigured it into the cloak he'd just removed, actually. The Dark Lord then sat forward, once again resting his elbows on the table, but still managing to look just as imposing a figure as before. Lucius supposed that was mostly the man's magic at work. It was monumental, honestly. It had to be quite an effort to suppress it while out in public when donning his guise as Marcus Verus.

Lucius had been able to tell that Marcus Verus was a powerful wizard, but the man's magical aura had never been as all encompassing or omnipresent as it was now; _as the Dark Lord's aura always was_.

"Now, Lucius," the wizard who was both the Dark Lord and Marcus Aurelius Verus began in a very down-to-business sort of tone, "I have already managed to gain a very substantial amount of support among those seated in the House of Commons. Social engineering, and copious campaign donations have secured me the favor of more than half of them in a rather short period of time. _You_, in fortunate contrast, hold the favor of a great many of those holding seats in the House of Lords. We both know that holding favor within the House of Lords is considerably more beneficial, seeing as how those witches and wizards can hold more than a single vote.

"I have been working towards also gaining the favor of those among the higher seat holders in the House of Lords, but it is a time-intensive endeavor, and few Lords are easily swayed by money as those who hold multiple votes generally tend to be among the more wealthy of our world and have no need for 'donations'. I have decided that my efforts are better spent towards other tasks, seeing as how I already have you at my disposal to help in persuading those among the Lords to back and Sponsor certain bills and measures that we have drafted."

At this, the Dark Lord actually made something of a gesture towards Potter and Lucius almost did a double-take and being reminded that the boy was still there. Then his mind caught up with what had been said – was the Dark Lord suggesting that Potter had played a role in drafting proposed legislation?

Lucius' first instinct was incredulous disbelief, but he caught himself and reminded himself of just what he actually knew of the boy, and the boy's writing.

Perhaps it wasn't so farfetched.

"Obviously, I am not in a position, myself – _yet – _to put forth proposed legislation, but you know many Lords who are. I wish to filter our legislation _through_ a number of different people. Many will likely jump at this opportunity since they get to lay claim to the creation of them, and for now, that is fine. All that matters is that they get through."

Lucius gave a firm nod. "Yes, my Lord. I can already think of several individuals whom would not garner any untoward attention at proposing legislation who would jump at the opportunity."

"Good. Many of the bills appear benign enough on the surface, but the truly glorious aspects come into play when they work together – which will be harder to spot if they all appear to be coming from different sources. It is a finely woven tapestry that will only become apparent further down the road when all of the pieces come together. The key will be to make sure that they are not drastically modified in pointless committees. A proper number of supporting Lords will help guarantee that."

The meeting went on for some time after that. Potter actually produced a large satchel at one point and began pulling out the individual pieces of legislation that they had drafted and wanted to introduce first, and it was _he_ who explained two of the four, while still seeming to defer to the Dark Lord on the others. He had finally sat up _properly_ in his chair, but he never showed the proper amount of respect that the situation should have garnered and that really rubbed Lucius the wrong way. It was also somewhat stunning that the Dark Lord let him get away with such disrespect.

Just the same, the boy had been intelligent and clear and Lucius could find no other serious faults with his behavior outside of his lack of proper decorum.

Considering all of the surprising revelations of that night, Lucius felt he'd held himself together rather well except for one moment of weakness when his shock had finally gotten the better of him.

It was a stupid thing to be so caught off guard about too, but when Potter and the Dark Lord began a side-discussion in parseltongue, Lucius couldn't help but gap at them in stunned amazement and... awe? Bewilderment? He wasn't sure what he felt, honestly. It wasn't like he didn't already _know_ that Potter was a parselmouth. He knew the boy had a snake – he'd seen it, even, since the boy had brought it with him for the holidays. But for some stupid reason, Lucius had not connected the fact that Potter being a parselmouth, and the Dark Lord being a parselmouth meant that the two could communicate that way.

He felt monumentally stupid when he finally pulled himself together.

He then felt mildly annoyed because shortly after that, Lucius was dismissed _from his own study_ so that Potter and the Dark Lord could continue their discussion. That didn't change the fact that he immediately complied with a low bow to his Lord and a reluctant nod to Potter.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I am not Jo Rowling. I am not making any money.**_

– – – – – –

Harry let out a tired yawn and stretched in his side-ways perch in the wing-back leather chair he'd been occupying the last few hours. He blinked blearily around the dimly-lit study before his eyes fell upon the cabinet that he remembered Lucius storing his liquor in and grinned. He twisted and practically jumped out of the chair, drawing Voldemort's curious gaze, and striding confidently across the room to pull the cabinet open.

The smile curving his lips spread even wider at the sight of a single bottle of white wine and he wasted little time magicking the cork out and filling himself a glass. He glanced over at Voldemort, held up an empty glass in one hand and the bottle in the other while arching a single questioning brow. Voldemort let a small snort of amusement escape him before he nodded his head, seemingly reluctantly. Harry grinned back, filled the glass and sent it levitating across the space with a wandless wave of his hand to rest on the desk in front of Voldemort while he closed the liquor cabinet; keeping the wine bottle with him, and returned to his previous chair.

"Damn Lucy tempted me with this shit a few days ago. Drank it right in front of me and didn't even offer me any – how rude is that?" Harry said with mock insult, grinning all the while.

"No doubt, Lucius was not interested in sharing his expensive imported liquor with an adolescent who clearly finds such enjoyment and amusement in annoying the living shit out of him, as often as possible," Voldemort offered up mildly.

Harry's grin only grew wider, still. "He is such fun to tease."

Voldemort snorted took a sip of his drink and returned his focus to the parchment he had on the desk in front of him where he'd been making notes for the last half hour, since Lucius was dismissed.

"You know what's crazy? I'm finding myself surprisingly fond of the Malfoys," Harry said in a wondering sort of tone as he brought his own glass up to his lips and took a large enough swig that Voldemort's eyes widened minutely.

"Why is that so surprising?" Voldemort asked in a slightly disinterested tone as he once again looked back down at his notes.

"Oh, I guess it's just that the first few lives I lived, I quite distinctly _despised_ the lot of them. Draco and I were practically legendary with our rivalry, and that was pretty consistent through most of my lives where I went to Hogwarts – it seemed like it didn't matter what house I got sorted into, he always seemed to hate me. Of course, that probably had to do with my snubbing him and him taking it personally..." Harry trailed off before shrugging and taking another deep gulp from his glass. "His father and I were political adversaries quite often in a few of my lives where I was more active in politics – the ones where he wasn't already in prison, anyways. For that matter, in my second life when I was an Auror, I even arrested him. Hell, I was even held captive in this very manor for a very brief stint in my first life while one of my friends was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange."

Voldemort looked back up at Harry and gave him a speculative stare for several long moments before shaking his head that disbelievingly. "It's difficult for me to imagine you having changed so much."

Harry chuckled quietly. "I've changed a great deal. Honestly, I'm surprised it took me as long as it did to finally break the mold and try something this different. I guess it's just a sign of how stubborn I can be. I was very committed to a few of the paths I chose early on. I mean, the damned sorting hat wanted me in Slytherin from the very beginning. My _first life_, the damn hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I was stubborn and refused. And I kept refusing too. Second life I was a Gryffindor _again_. Third, I was a Ravenclaw; fourth I went ahead and tried Hufflepuff and kept myself as low profile as humanly possible. No one had even the faintest inkling that there was a single exceptional thing about me. I was as boring and ordinary as imaginable..." Harry paused, looking thoughtful before he snorted at some long-ago memory and sighed. "The life after that, I didn't even go to Hogwarts because I killed myself before hitting age eleven."

Voldemort pinned him with a _very_ curious look after that. "It never bothered you?" he asked, tilting his head speculatively. "Killing yourself? That wasn't... unsettling?"

"You mean, was it scary?" Harry asked with a humorless chuckle. "I had already lived many centuries by that point. _I was tired._ I _wanted_ to die. The only thing I 'feared' was the bothersome process of living out my first few years, all over again."

"What was that like, anyway?" Voldemort asked, bracing his elbows on the desk and leaning forward slightly with apparent curiosity.

"Being an infant?" Harry asked.

Voldemort nodded.

Harry hummed and rolled his head slightly on his shoulders as his eyes unfocused with thought. "Mostly... it was frustrating. The brain is still forming so perceptions are all distorted and motor control is inconsistent and unpredictable. Obviously I was still able to get the walking part down a lot earlier than 'normal' babies can, and got talking down much earlier than is generally reasonable just because – distorted perceptions or not – I still _know English_. I don't have to learn it, I just have to train my muscles and my brain to cooperate with what I want to do. It's more bothersome and convoluted than you'd expect, too," Harry grumbled before downing what was left in his glass and then pausing to pour himself some more. He held the bottle up, questioningly, in Voldemort's direction. Voldemort held up his own glass that was still half-full, in answer, so Harry set the bottle back down on the floor beside him.

"In any case, I've tried to 'enjoy' the total and utter lack of responsibility, but mostly it's just frustrating having to completely rely on others for even the most basic things, like soiled nappys and being fed. It was also _very weird_ nursing from my mum's tits. Even in later lives where I'd gotten somewhat used to it, it was still weird. There were a few times where I straight-up refused to do it, and she eventually went with expressed milk in a bottle or formula. But the formula stuff tastes like arse, soo..." Harry trailed off and paused before grinning with cheeky embarrassment at Voldemort, whose eyes were slightly wider than was normal.

"You said once that you've attempted to prevent your parents from having been killed, at all, but it's never worked –" Voldemort said a few moments later, letting the unspoken question hang at the end.

"Yeah, I was never able to get that to work, but I tried for it almost every time. I was even talking, to some extent, before you killed them, and I even tried to explain things in a couple of my lives, but that always seemed to backfire on me in one way or another."

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully, frowning slightly and looking away. A silence hung in the air for several long beats, during which Harry drank some more of his wine.

"What about afterwards? You said that you'd looked after yourself during this life, but I can't help but wonder how that's even possible," Voldemort finally asked.

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, well, I wasn't even going to bother trying to stop you from offing them this time – although I didn't really bother to try that last time either – but anyway, I refused to go to the Dursley's – that's my muggle relatives. _Awful_ bastards – the lot of them. Fucking arses. Anyway, since I was more than aware of the timing of everything and just waiting for it to happen, I had plenty of time to prepare.

"I couldn't do much, obviously. I was thirteen months old for Merlin's sake, but I was able to hold a biro and scrawl out a shaky order letter to an apothecary and attach it to our owl's leg. I ordered a small bottle of aging potion and hid it in my nappy before the _big event_. I'm also perfectly capable of throwing off a sleeping charm, so after Dumbledore dropped me off on their doorstep, I crawled out of the basket, downed the potion, apparated to this old ass, falling-apart, abandoned magical keep that I knew about from previous lives. The place isn't really inhabitable, but the ward-stones around the property are still charged, and quite powerful, so it was enough to prevent anyone from tracking me while I made more preparations. I slipped out every few days to get more supplies, and even went back to my parent's house and raided it for useful things like my dad's wand, a fairly sizable hidden stash of gold, his Gringott's key, some food, some of my dad's clothes, and my mum's potions equipment so I could brew my own aging potions.

"I'd stashed a lot of it ahead of time, so no one would find it and remove it in the days following their deaths. After that, I just rented a flat in London, paid the goblins to ward the place and passed the time reading, writing, or indulging in some other random hobby. Not much of interest, really."

"So you spent your youth taking _aging potions_, almost constantly?" Voldemort asked, almost incredulously.

"As often as I could manage it," Harry said with a shrug and downed another gulp of liquor.

"I have trouble seeing as how that would be possible. It would have slowly poisoned you if you didn't allow enough time for the turmeric to run out of your system."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "I invented my own aging potion. None of the potions out there were good enough for my needs. Came up with it... two lives ago, I think. I had that problem you mentioned with the turmeric and came to the conclusion that I needed an alternative."

"I see."

The conversation lulled into silence for a few moments during which Harry let out a contented sigh and let his head lull back onto the arm of the chair he was presently perched side-ways in.

"Why did you become Minister?" Voldemort asked suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hmm?" Harry hummed as he pulled his heavy head upwards and blinked somewhat blearily at the man opposite him behind the desk.

"You said in your third life you became Minister of Magic, yet you also stated that in your first life you despised politics and in your second only used your political power sparingly. What possessed you to go for the highest ranking political position magical Britain has, in your third life?"

"Oh... Well, my third life was the one where I started out with Dumbledore in-the-know on my whole time-looping thing, in hopes that he could help me understand what was causing it. He never did, of course, but we spent my seven years at Hogwarts searching for answers, since I'd destroyed your horcruxes before I even turned eleven. By that point I started to think that maybe what was happening to me had absolutely nothing to do with the wizarding war, and the prophecy, at all, since I felt pretty confident that I'd fulfilled the damn thing perfectly in my second life. So I wondered if maybe it was something from later on in my life that I was supposed to try and fix. There were certainly plenty of things that went horribly wrong, in both my first and second later-lives. Most of them related to the collapse of the statue of secrecy. I tried out a few things that I thought might help in preventing problems, but I didn't have the power or influence to actually _do_ anything. I worked my way through the Ministry and used all of my Wizengamot power and actively voted in the House of Lords, trying to fix every little thing I could think of.

"Eventually, it just led me higher and higher in the political spectrum until I came to the conclusion that the only place I could make some real change was in the Minister's position, so I ran for office and managed to win by a fair margin. Of course, in the end, nothing I did made a big enough impact in the grand scheme of things. Sure, some things were improved, and some groups were better prepared. The Ministry, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley all had considerably improved wards and protections in place _before_ the muggles found us, and it took them a lot longer to find us, but they _still found us_. They're very inventive; muggles. Very clever at finding solutions to strange new problems, when they have the right incentive to do so."

Voldemort hummed in a thoughtful tone. "And you think that you and I can have better results if _we're_ in charge? You were already Minister and had this knowledge before, and yet you say that the muggles still found us and still destroyed our way of life. Yet you've told me before that you feel we can do better?" Voldemort said, leaving it off with another unspoken question.

Part of Harry's already fuzzy mind picked up, in some level of shock, that Voldemort had said when _'we're_ in charge', and he couldn't help but find that statement somewhat hilarious. Harry shook his head and the room spun a little, causing him to chuckle weakly before clearing his throat. "Right. Well, honestly I think that we'll have a better chance at getting somewhere because you won't be all skittish about the need to use deadly force in the beginning. I was working a lot with Dumbledore, obviously. Shockingly enough, the old bastard was _still alive_ when I became Minister, although he did die the same year that the muggles finally discovered us. Just the same, I was still loyal to the fucking old shite, and his ideals were still quite firmly lodged in my stubborn brain. I was still hoping for a peaceful cooperation or some such rubbish."

"And you don't think that's possible now?" Voldemort asked with amused curiosity.

"If they see us as weak, they'll walk all over us. I've seen it time and time again. The only way to maintain our independence and actually survive is if they fear us, _and_ respect our strength," Harry said in a bored and lazy tone. "Or else they'll just destroy us. It could be like the cold war. Mutually Assured Destruction. We have to acknowledge that they have the power to destroy us, but have to make them realize that we have the power to destroy them too – _and that we're willing to actually do it._ Only then can we co-exist in any form of peace. We're just too different."

Voldemort made a thoughtful sort of humming noise and Harry glanced over to see the man looking at him with a pleased, calculating sort of mischief on his face. Harry raised a single eyebrow in question, but ended up deciding he didn't really care all that much what might be causing the expression.

"Gods, Lucius has good wine," Harry said instead as he brought his glass to his lips and finished it off, before reaching over for the bottle on the floor. "Good vintage. Thing probably cost a fortune." Harry grinned widely and chuckled.

"Are you really sure you should have another?" Voldemort asked, sounding thoroughly amused, and only mockingly cautionary.

Harry snorted. "It's been like... _fifteen years_, since the last time I got good and wasted," Harry said with a shrug as he shifted his position in the chair so that he could pour the drink without spilling anything.

"What's stopped you from indulging before this? If you've been using aging potions, I don't see why you couldn't get your own liquor whenever it suited you."

Harry made a bit of a grimace. "Well, _sure – _a sip here and there with a meal, but actually getting _hammered_ – alone? How pathetic is that? And I'm definitely not going to run down to some pub and get smashed with strangers. I tend to get chatty when I'm legitimately drunk, and the last thing I need is to be surrounded by strangers when I'm ranting on about crazy shit. Never get drunk around people you don't trust. That's my rule, anyway," Harry said, raising his glass towards Voldemort with a gesture that caused a bit of the bubbly liquid inside to slosh over the side and onto what was probably an excessively expensive rug. Not that Harry cared.

Voldemort _definitely_ looked amused now and Harry rather suspected that he'd slurred his way through some of that. He didn't _feel_ drunk, but he knew himself well enough to know that he probably was – a feat which had taken him a great many years to be able to understand.

"Are you saying that you _trust me?_" Voldemort asked with mock shock, while smirking.

Harry paused, brows furrowed and looking thoughtful for a long moment before he snorted rather loudly feeling utterly astounded with the realization – all proper circumstances, considered. "Great Merlin, I think I do. I guess I really have gone mental."

"You won't hear me argue with that," Voldemort muttered in a bit of an aristocratic drawl, that sounded more artificial than actually real, and Harry looked over to find the man smiling at him oddly.

Harry tilted his head to the side, letting it lull a bit back against the arm rest and the corner of the chair. "You really did a spot on job with that face of yours – the whole body, actually, although I suppose you probably didn't have to change much of anything, there," He said almost musingly.

Voldemort's brow furrowed slightly and he cocked a single brow. "What nonsense are you spouting _now?_"

"Ya know," Harry began, waving his drink in the air a bit, gesturing towards Voldemort, and almost spilling some of his drink again, "when you made your little changes. Although, you were a fine specimen before all that too – it's just that... well I guess if I was going to pick what face I had to look at in the mirror for the rest of my life, I'd probably design myself a right nice gob too, and you definitely did yourself justice. Just expressing my appreciation, is all."

The corner of Voldemort's fine lips curled up in obvious amusement now. "Are you saying you find me attractive?"

Harry snorted. "Well, _duh._ Fishing for compliments now, eh Tom?" Harry said, snickering before taking another drink.

Voldemort's amusement instantly vanished. "Don't call me that," he said in a cold tone.

Harry blinked over at the man feeling rather disconcerted with the sudden shift in the man's previously genial mood. He didn't like the frown on the man's face, nor the instant shift in the tiny emotional echo he always felt whenever he was in such close range to the man. Harry frowned slightly and blinked several times, trying to work his slightly-sluggish-feeling mind around what he might have done.

"Shit, did I call you Tom? Fuck. Uhm... sorry? It's just... I mean, it _is_ a nice name. I don't get why you hate it so much – well, that's not true. I understand that it's the whole 'it's too common' thing, and you're all exceptional and worthy of a more exceptional name, but... well that's just kind of silly, don't you think? Seems like childish thinking to me. That's fine and reasonable for a sixteen year old to think that, but surely you... well, maybe not.

"But _really_, 'Voldemort' is such a ridiculous name – I mean, _honestly..._ Can you imagine someone calling out _Voldemort_ in bed? That'd just be bizarre... although, maybe you've actually experienced that, so you wouldn't think it was bizarre. Have you had any lovers that you let call you Voldemort? Wait – nevermind. I don't think I want to know. It's burning my brain just thinking about it. Maybe the part of thinking of you as 'Voldemort' that weirds me out is just because I associate that name too strongly with the old you's – the insane, broken ones. So I have trouble seeing you as the same... the same _Voldemort._ And what's really wrong with Tom, anyway? Or Thomas. Tom. _Thomas_. Thomassss... see, I like it. That's a nice name. Nothing wrong with it at all."

"You're drunk, Harry. You really ought to stop talking," Voldemort said, his words starting out rather frigid but ending with a slightly exasperated sigh, and softened, pensive features. He shifted in the fine wingback chair and turned to look at the fire burning in the hearth for several quiet moments.

"I told you I have trouble with talking too much when I'm drunk," Harry mumbled sounding reluctantly apologetic, before finishing off the last of his glass. He reached down for the bottle only to find it was empty. "Damn. Looks like I drank all of Lucy's liquor."

Voldemort glanced side-ways towards Harry and there was a small traitorous smirk curling up one corner of his mouth. "I suppose I should be grateful that you're not calling me something ridiculous like _Lucy_."

Harry burst out into full-on laughter at that, which slowly subsided into chuckles that lasted far longer than was necessarily appropriate, but he was drunk and, therefore, permitted to laugh at stupid shit.

Harry heaved a sigh as the urge to giggle finally dissipated. "Yeah... no goofy nicknames for you. I've actually called previous-life incarnations of you 'Voldy', to your face – or _his _face, rather – just to piss him off but... guh... I can't really see myself doing that with you. I mean, _ I like you_. So that just feels disrespectful or something. I respect you – I didn't respect any of them."

"I do believe that we're all actually the same person," Voldemort pointed out, pinning Harry with a vaguely annoyed glare.

Harry hummed thoughtfully for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Nnnn...no. Not – not at all. I mean, in those lives, I was dealing with what little was left of you after you'd not only diced and spliced your soul up so much that you barely had half a percent left – you'd made Nagini a horcrux even after accidentally making _me_ a horcrux, so you had like... no soul left at all. And on top of that, since at least one or two other horcruxes had actually been _destroyed _in each life where I encountered you in person later on, your whole soul was destabilizing and you were even _more_ insane... that version of you hardly even counts as _you_ at all. It was just a walking, talking garble of anger, hate, and the urge to be violent and punish the world for his own misery. None of your charm or creativity or intelligence was left. Just a walking snake-man that couldn't even find enjoyment out of the cruciatus curse, anymore."

Voldemort eyed him with a seemingly blank face for a very long time after that before turning away rather abruptly and taking a sip of his own drink that had really barely been touched at all.

Harry heaved a sign into the silence and played with the rim of his glass, peering into it and feeling distracted by the flickering light from the hearth reflecting in the surface. He was enjoying the gentle numbing buzz of the wine, but wished there was more of it left. He was still a lightweight – being only fourteen, and not really having drank much before this – but he really wouldn't mind getting a bit more smashed before heading to bed.

Reluctantly, his eyes found their way back to Voldemort, who was staring pensively into the fire. Harry felt his eyes growing heavy, both from the alcohol and from the ever-present weight of the man's mighty magic. It was like it _sang_ to Harry's very blood. It had been most overwhelming when Harry had first felt the man enter the ballroom, but quickly managed to regain control of his senses, even though the feeling had never really gone away. But now it was as if his control was slipping – or perhaps he just didn't seem to understand the reason he had before for holding that control in place.

He let his head lull from side to side, seemingly listening to the magical tune that had no real notes and sang to his senses in a different way than anything else ever had before. The man's magic truly was tantalizing.

Seductive, really.

Harry opened his eyes and glanced down at his freehand, twisting it around and examining his own palm, lazily. Memories of their chat in the ballroom, earlier that night, and the discovery of their _touching_ flooded his mind – but most specifically, memories of how it had felt when they'd rested their hands on each other's cloth-covered forearms.

Harry looked up suddenly and felt himself grin. "Hey! I'd almost forgotten!"

Voldemort turned his head back towards Harry and eyed him warily. "What?"

"I want to try something," Harry said, kicking his legs out to the front of the chair and making to stand up. He instantly wobbled and fell right back into the seat where he blinked a couple times before snickering quietly and standing back up, but_ more slowly_. He supported his weight with a hand on one of the arm rests for a moment, until the room had stopped spinning and he was sure he wasn't going to fall on his arse.

"Try _what?_ Voldemort asked, eyeing Harry with considerable caution as the younger wizard made his way around the desk until he was just to Voldemort's right.

Harry's almost maniacal grin was undoubtedly doing little to nothing to ease Voldemort's concerns.

"What – _what are you doing?"_ Voldemort said, sounding more incredulous now, and he actually shifted away in his seat, as Harry came right up to Voldemort's side and reached his hand out. Voldemort made to pull his own hand away, rather quickly, but Harry was quicker. Harry grasped Voldemort's hand and both instantly sucked in startled gasps at the instant spike in intensity and feeling.

"Whoa," Harry said breathily with his eyes locked on where their hands were joined.

Voldemort's lips were parted in apparent surprise and his eyes seemed magnetically locked in the same place as Harry's. "What –" he began but trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

"Now _this_ is definitely nothing like in my previous lives," Harry said, still sounding somewhat hoarse, but also quite obviously pleased. This drew Voldemort's sharp gaze back up to Harry's face.

"And _what_ exactly was different in your _previous lives?"_ he asked in what was meant to be a sharp tone, but his voice was a bit too breathy to pull it off entirely.

"Well... it hurt like a bitch. Both of us, really. In fact, in my first two lives, when you were possessing Quirrell, all I had to do was touch Quirrell and he would start to scream and disintegrate. That's how I killed him, actually."

"Disintegrate!" Voldemort exclaimed and flinched his hand slightly as if he were about to pull it away from Harry, but hesitated and left it were it was a moment later.

"Yeah, but that was most likely connected with the magic of my mother's sacrifice combined with your defiance of the magical oath you accidentally made to spare me... I can't say for sure why it's not still an issue with the two of us now, but maybe the whole 'restoring your soul' thing is what's fixed that."

"Wait – magical oath?" Voldemort asked, sitting up straighter and frowning in confusion.

"So in those first encounters, if I touched you when you were in any kind of physical form, _you_ were the one mainly hurt," Harry went on, acting as if he hadn't heard the question, "but in my first life you decided to use my blood in your resurrection ritual to bypass that – and it worked because after that you could touch me and not suffer for it yourself. Or at least, I didn't think you were suffering from any reaction, although I found out in one of my later lives you were just hiding your own pain. I was hurting a heck of a lot more, though, and wasn't in much of a position to tell if you were in any discomfort yourself."

"Don't think I don't see what you've just done there. We will be discussing this oath thing you mentioned, later," Voldemort said, pinning Harry with a penetrating gaze that only made Harry smile innocently up at him for a moment, before it morphed into a smirk.

"Sure, fine," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his free hand.

"Mmm hmm... And you know, I'd rather you not refer to _me_ as if I were the one doing these things you experienced in your previous lives, seeing as how I, personally, _didn't _do any of them_,"_ Voldemort grumbled and scowled slightly.

"Hey, you're the one who just said, moments ago, that the Voldemort from my previous lives was _still you._"

"They were still the same person that I could have been, but we are all different iterations, or potential outcomes of the same person... I suppose we're just arguing semantics at this point. In any case, having you refer to things that 'I' did, that I did not actually do, is mildly annoying and I'd rather you not do it."

Harry nodded his head slightly to the side. "Yeah, I agree, but it's hard for me to figure out how else to talk about it. Unless we can agree that I refer to all my previous-life Voldemorts as just 'Voldemort' and you let me call _you_ Tom."

"_No,"_ Voldemort snapped instantly and Harry smirked and chuckled, giving the man a small shrug.

"Then I don't know what else to say. Hmm... how about Marvolo?"

"What?"

"Well, you've got such a big thing against 'Tom', but what about your middle name?"

"You could call me Marcus," Voldemort suggested with a sigh.

Harry grimaced. "No. Don't like that. That's not your real name."

"I hardly consider _Tom_ my real name either. I haven't used it since I was eighteen," he grumbled before sighing heavily. "Fine. I suppose I could endure 'Marvolo' from time to time."

Harry grinned triumphantly and Voldemort gave him an exasperated sort of look. And yet, oddly enough, it was almost a _fond_ sort expression.

"So, this version of – let's just say _Voldemort_, that existed in your previous lives – touching him was painful. This –" Voldemort made a gesture with his hand towards their hands, which were surprisingly enough, still joined, and continued "is clearly _not_ painful. What possessed you to even _try_ such contact with the past history of such pain, and potential disintegration?"

"Well, it obviously didn't hurt when we were touching earlier, at the Yule gala – of course, that was through a few layers of clothing, but _still; _it felt _good_, which didn't really lead me to expect something more direct would suddenly start hurting. Plus, I got this inkling in my head, that if we touched, skin-to-skin, the feeling would only intensify – like _good_ intensify. My curiosity about it has sort of been buzzing in the back of my head since then."

"I see."

Silence descended upon the pair for several beats after that and Harry once again found his eyes lingering on the spot where their hands were joined. He turned his head and glanced over at the chair he'd been perched in just a bit ago, suddenly finding himself wishing he had it over here so he could sit in it while retaining his hold on Voldemort's hand – because, honestly, he really didn't want to let go. _It felt wonderful_, and he couldn't quite remember the last time he felt _wonderful_.

He reached out with his free hand and made a small beckoning gesture towards the chair. He was rewarded, and grinned with pleasure, as the chair began to shuffle its way towards him, and around the desk until it positioned itself so that he could sit in it without moving away from the side of the desk.

Voldemort's eyes widened minutely and his lips even parted the tiniest bit as an impressed gleam filled his eyes. Until a moment later when snorted and rolled his eyes at Harry's antics. Otherwise, he made no outward comment on the bit of wandless magic he'd witnessed Harry do.

Harry settled into the chair, side-ways, shifting a bit to get comfortable while keeping his hand where it was, and Voldemort made a noise of mild amusement at the seemingly-younger wizard's antics. Once Harry was sufficiently comfortable and had managed to keep his hand where he clearly wanted it, he grinned smugly up at Voldemort before heaving out a satisfied sigh and glancing down at their joined hands.

Several moments of silence passed again between them before Harry spoke again.

"It really is quite nice, isn't it?" Harry mused, sounding slightly sleepy.

Voldemort heaved a long sigh. "Quite," he said reluctantly after several silent beats, while keeping his own eyes trained pensively down on their joined hands. He looked quite torn – and when Harry took the time to try and pick apart the blurry miasma of emotion that whispered in the back of his mind from their link, he could tell there was something of a conflict burning in the other man.

"I think we should investigate this further," Harry said absently with a yawn, as his fingers began to dance across Voldemort's knuckles and the veins along the back of his fine hands, as Harry let his eyelids fall slightly closed.

Voldemort snorted then said, sarcastically; "Yes. _Investigate _it. You look like you're about to pass out. With your current state of inebriation, you might not even remember this clearly in the morning."

"I'm not _that_ drunk," Harry argued without any real force behind it. "I didn't even have a whole bottle of wine."

"Perhaps, but you hardly ate anything at the ball, your body is only fourteen, and you said yourself that you haven't drank much in this life, so I rather doubt you've developed any tolerance to alcohol."

Harry's lower lip stuck out in a bit of a pout and he pried one eye open to look at the man who was mildly scowling down at him. Slowly, Harry pulled his lip back into place and just looked at the man's face pensively. Harry's body was singing with the gentle waves of magic that seemed to be passing between them, effortlessly, centralized at their joined hands. It was outrageously soothing. He felt all warm and tingly and _cozy._ It made him feel more at peace and comfortable then he'd felt in so damn long, and he found that it displeased him that Voldemort seemed so conflicted and reluctant to give in to that same 'cozy' feeling.

"I really like this feeling," he said as a soft smile spread its way across his lips. "We should 'investigate it further', if for no other reason than to have an excuse to do it again."

Voldemort made something of a snorting-scoff and shook his head, now sending a reluctantly amused look down at Harry.

"You are... odd," he said, sounding almost _fond._

"I'll take that as a compliment. Being normal is boring, I've determined," Harry replied airily and yawned.

"I suppose I can't argue with _that_ sentiment, any,_"_ Voldemort said with a smirk. His eyes fell back down at their hands and a small frown spread across his lips while the pensive expression filled his face again. "This truly is one of the most ridiculous things I've ever done."

Harry guffawed, opened his eyes and look over at the other wizard with amusement. "I hardly believe that _holding someone's hand_ is the most ridiculous thing that_ you've_ ever done."

"I cannot even remember the last time I willingly touched someone like this, Harry. Outside of handshakes and social niceties required for public interaction, which certainly don't compare to _this,_" he paused and raised their joined hands off the desk for a moment before letting them fall back down again, "I haven't engaged in _any_ physical contact with another person in ages. Probably decades – and being on the back of Quirrell's head _doesn't count."_

Harry guffawed again and then chuckled lightly. "Well, I'm honored."

"I honestly can't say why I'm allowing this continue," Voldemort said in a musing tone a moment later.

"I know why," Harry said with a smug grin.

"Oh?" Voldemort asked, pinning him with a single raised brow, almost daring him to answer.

"It feels good. Why not indulge in something that feels this good? No matter how hard we like to act and how strong of a shell we construct around ourselves to protect us from getting hurt, we're still human, and humans crave human contact. It feels nice and it's comforting. But neither of us get to indulge in something like _human contact_ because you have to trust the other person to let them get that close. But there's no expectation between the two of us for... I don't know – whatever _normal_ people would expect. But we're not normal. And this is something strange and unique we can share... or something... I mean, just a touch and our magic is dancing together, and it's _amazing_. I mean, I don't know entirely what it's like for you, and I know I probably _am_ a bit drunk, so maybe it won't be this nice when I'm sober, but... I don't know. It's nice. I like it and I honestly don't feel inclined to stop, so long as you aren't objecting."

"You're rambling nonsense," Voldemort said dryly.

Harry grinned and gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I can tell you're conflicted over the whole thing. I mean... _holding hands?_ That _is_ sort of ridiculous. But who's going to know except us? We're not '_holding hands'_, we're 'melding our magic', and physical touch is the conduit. How's that?"

Voldemort let out a small amused scoff, shook his head, rolled his eyes, and ended up looking back at Harry with that inkling of a fond glimmer, once again in his eye. "I don't know why I've found myself appreciating your company much as I have. You truly are an obscenely ridiculous person, and I know I normally wouldn't tolerate someone as obstinate, _forward_, and rude as you can be."

"I'm not rude, I just don't care what other people think of me, most of the time," Harry argued in a bored tone before grinning over at the man. "Although it is nice to know you care," he added, smirking mischievously.

Voldemort scoffed. "I rather suspect you care more about what other people think, and the consequences of your actions, then you let on. But I think you're bored, and you've started to learn how to appreciate the enjoyment that can be found by rocking the boat. You enjoy shaking things up and seeing where the pieces fall," Voldemort mused before his lips curled up confidently.

"I'm certainly not going to argue with that. It's also easy to slip into that sort of mode, knowing that if I don't like where the pieces fall down, I can always just off myself and start all over again."

Voldemort nodded his head slowly, looking at Harry with those piercing, intelligent eyes, and Harry could feel the spike in the other man's curiosity, and the way the magic between them seemed to dance with greater interest through his veins. "It must be very liberating to not fear death," Voldemort finally said, in a awed tone. "I know you see this thing you have to endure, as a curse, but I can only imagine what I would do with such an opportunity..."

Harry's expression hardened almost instantly and he sat up a bit straighter. "It's not worth it. Even I thought it was an opportunity in the beginning. But it's not. It's just a more horrible way to suffer. It's endless... It's purgatory."

"Perhaps you simply haven't figured out how to enjoy it or properly appreciate it for the opportunity that it truly is. This is your twelfth life, yes?"

Harry nodded his head cautiously.

"I think that you have focused far too much of your efforts towards how to 'get things right' and end the cycle. Killing yourself when you had fulfilled whatever variable change you had theorized might make the difference, and finding yourself an infant again, thus having to endure the miserable helplessness of early life, repeatedly, over a short period of time. You spent your longer lives trying to make the world the 'best' you could make it be in hopes that _that_ might be what you were supposed to do – but what if you aren't 'supposed' to _do_ _anything?_ What if there is no task that you're expected to fulfill to perfection. Maybe you're just supposed to... Oh, I don't know – _enjoy your life_."

"Are _you_ seriously the one telling me this?" Harry asked incredulously, feeling the urge to laugh. "_You!"_

Voldemort scowled at him for a moment before rolling his eyes slightly. "I am merely suggesting that it doesn't sound to me like you especially enjoyed _any_ of your lives. Even the first one where you married your school-age 'sweetheart' had a large brood of children, who all had children of their own, and spent your life surrounded by friends and family, living to the ripe old age of one hundred and forty-something, thus fulfilling the supposed 'dream life' the common folk all seem to aspire to. Even then, you had a miserable marriage, denied your own sexuality for decades, kept that truth about yourself hidden from all of your friends and family members, and looked the other way while your wife slept with other men.

"And your second life didn't sound much better since you were so focused on trying to get everything 'perfect' that it sounds like you barely had time to even live your life. You've always lived your lives for _everyone else_. Or you've lived it for the sake of the 'variable theory', and 'offed yourself' as soon as you could. Are you just going to live this life long enough to see me as leader of Wizarding Britain, migrate the horcrux piece out of your body, and then promptly kill yourself?"

"What are you suggesting I do instead?" Harry asked, feeling mildly perplexed.

"_Live," _Voldemort said, leaning forward as a fiery gleam seemed to take light in his eyes. "Enjoy your time and live for as long a life as you can. Why be in such a rush to die? I have the Philosopher's Stone. I can provide you with the Elixir of Life and the two of us can live for centuries to come."

Harry stared at him in shock for several long seconds before he shook his head, scoffed, and sat back in his chair. "I'm looking for a way to die _for good_, not _live forever_."

"But why? The only reason that you are so eager to die, is because you haven't learned how to enjoy living."

"Are you suggestion that _you_ know how to enjoy living?" Harry asked with incredulous skepticism.

"I am trying," Voldemort said coldly, sitting up a bit straighter and shifting in such a way that Harry worried for a moment that the man would pull his hand away from Harry's loose grip. He didn't, but Harry tightened his grip, just the same and frowned.

"I know what I want – or at least... what I believe I want," Voldemort began. "I will admit that I am less sure now than I was in my youth. I was so... utterly confident, then. But now I've seen what that confidence can cost me, and I've heard stories from you of how it truly did cost other incarnations of myself, _everything._ _That_ is why I envy the opportunity that you have. I _think_ I know what I want, and I intend to do everything in my not-inconsiderable power, to achieve exactly that. But I am willing to admit... to myself, and I suppose to you – although I have no idea why – that I could be wrong. What I want may not make me happy. It may not be what I truly _need. _In which case, I would appreciate the opportunity to _try again_. To discover what it truly is that will satisfy this need, inside me.

"Should I, perhaps, simply be content to let the rest of the world rot in it's own festering mess of flaws, and focus instead on myself, or is pursuing my desire to fix this world and all of its problems, while strengthening it and protecting our people, really what I should be doing? I never would have questioned my goals in the past, but now I can't help but do it," Voldemort trailed off, pensively, and Harry found himself watching the man in shocked awe.

It was certainly not something he would have expected the former Dark Lord to ever admit to anyone – ever. Even to himself. But here he was; having an honest and candid discussion about this with _Harry_.

Harry felt... oddly _blessed_, to know the other many trusted him enough to say these things to him. And quite honestly,_ stunned_.

"Thank you," Harry said in a soft, almost-whisper, after several silent moments passed between them.

Voldemort looked back up at him, his eyes refocusing after the distant look they'd taken on for the last few minutes. "For what?"

"For..." Harry trailed off and shook his head, not even sure what to say. "For what you said. For saying it. For sitting here with me these last few hours. For becoming the person you've become. For writing back and forth with me these years. For letting me hold your hand all this time, even though I know part of you has been freaked out by it. For trusting me and for being honest."

Voldemort gave a distant sort of shrug, giving off the impression that he wasn't really affected at all, but Harry could tell from the echo of emotions across the link that he wasn't nearly as unaffected as he let on.

Voldemort looked away, once again taking on a distant and distracted sort of expression before he appeared ready to speak again. "I suppose part of me feels like there's not a lot of point in hiding these things from you – and yet I cannot rationally say why. Its somewhat instinctive, and honestly, I find that horribly unsettling."

"Not unsettling enough, apparently," Harry pointed out and the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

"Apparently, not," Voldemort nodded with a resigned sigh. "You know me better than anyone else has ever known me. There are times I almost think you know me better than I know myself; which is just ridiculous. You know things about me that no one should – things I would never let anyone know, and yet I cannot change the fact that you know them, and since you do, I am forced to deal with that fact. I wanted, very much, to hate you, after you forced the bit of soul from the diary, back into me, those years ago. The last thing that I wanted was to feel any sort of gratitude for what you did. I do not enjoy owing people things," he drawled the last bit with a sneer before his featured softened again and he let out a small sigh.

"But after we started to communicate, I discovered, over time, that I respected the man who was writing those words to me in that shabby little book. The musings about life and politics; about the future and about the muggles. The theories on magic and power – that man intrigued me, and it was all the more fascinating, knowing it was you." He trailed off and Harry could feel the magic between them pick up in turbulence as the other man's emotions seemed to eddy and flow like rough waves against a beach.

"And then we began to write each other at the same time and open our shared connection while we did it. Sharing emotions – the proof that I am capable of feeling them, the same as any other person – proof that I'm not a sociopath... or that I'm not one _anymore._ Because that's what I had twisted into, after mutilating myself, as I did. It's been quite an adjustment for me – _feeling_ things again. Feeling sympathy and understanding guilt and consequence. And even now, with your own fear of letting yourself _feel_ emotions for fear of being hurt, you still feel things so strongly across our link. It's been quite intense. I cannot adequately put into words how profound your effect has been on me," Voldemort said, looking away from Harry and instead focusing on the flames in the hearth while he spoke.

Harry found himself literally _gaping_ at the other man. He was... _touched_. He found his throat to suddenly be shockingly tight and he had to forcefully swallow to push away the heavy lump.

After several quiet, heavy minutes passed between the two of the where the only sound that filled the room was the crackle of the fire, Harry let out a low chuckle. "We're quite a fucked up pair, aren't we?"

Voldemort chuckled darkly as well. "Quite."

– –

_And if, to be sure, sometimes you need to conceal a fact with words, do it in such a way that it does not become known, or, if it does become known, that you have a ready and quick defense_

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Leaving Lucius' study that night to go to bed had been one of the harder things Harry had done in a very long time. Harry didn't see Voldemort again in person for the rest of his winter holiday break, much to his own disappointment, but he didn't push the issue since he had the vague impression that the other man wanted some space to process things. Admittedly, Harry needed some time to process things as well.

The last remnants of his mental links between the man he had allied himself with, and the Voldemort he had killed so many times, were on the brink of being utterly destroyed. He'd been getting to know this new version of Tom Riddle for nearly two years now, and even when he'd started to find that he quite enjoyed their written talks, and that he respected the ideas and intelligence of the other man, he had still held that lingering hold over that this was still the man that he had witnessed kill his parents basically a dozen times, and whom he had personally killed or at least _vanquished_, nearly as many times as that.

Obviously, he knew on a rational level, that this was still technically the same man, but there was a distinct disconnect now in his mind. It was mostly the fact that this man – this _Marvolo_ – had admitted to feeling emotion; to understanding empathy; and to experiencing guilt and self-doubt. He had suddenly gone from an icon to be respected, but always done so cautiously, to an actual, human being.

It was like some switch in the back of Harry's head had been flipped, and a darkened room had suddenly been illuminated. It wasn't even like he hadn't realized before this point that Marvolo could really _feel_, because Harry had been sharing feelings with the man at least twice a month for more than a year, and during that time he had personally experienced Marvolo's ability to feel. And yet, it was as if he hadn't fully acknowledged the fact until this point. Yet Harry wasn't quite sure how to approach it now that he was finally seeing things differently for the first time, and knew he probably needed this extra time to process things.

Despite the apparent desire on both parts to take a step back and process, by the end of the second week of Harry's break, they were back to writing each other in the book and opening their emotional connection up while they did it. The honest truth of the matter was that Harry had just grown far too accustomed to the man's regular company and consultation to cut that out of his habits or schedule, and on top of that, it felt _nice_ to share that sort of weird, pseudo-intimate connection with another person.

Even if it was Marvolo. Or perhaps, _because_ it was him.

Harry felt like he understood the other wizard on a more substantial level, and that Voldemort – or perhaps, it really was about time to start consistently thinking of him as _Marvolo_ – understood _Harry_ on an instinctual sort of level, that he'd never shared with anyone else. They were connected, and that connection felt fluid and natural and comfortable.

That certainly wasn't to suggest that they were getting all sappy or fluffy in their talks – because they most certainly _weren't_. There hadn't been any more deep emotional confessions, like they'd shared that night in Lucius' study, over a bottle of wine. Mostly they had just gone back to talking magic and politics, and Marvolo's plans for his Death Eaters, while also poking fun and teasing each other (with Harry starting most of the teasing) as they had gotten into the habit of doing for quite some time now.

Aside from those talks, however, Harry's break, had mostly been spent in the company of Draco, with the exception of two lengthy meetings with Lucius to cover details and reports on some political maneuverings that Harry then discussed with Marvolo through the protean-charmed book and their link. Harry had taken quite a lot of enjoyment out of those meetings with Lucius, as he had taken control of them right away, leading the man as if Harry were his undisputed superior.

Lucius had clearly been deeply conflicted. Harry could tell the man wanted to snap at him for being an impudent little whelp or some such similar denouncement, but at the same time, knew better than to get on Harry's bad side, given Harry's obviously favored position at the 'Dark Lord's' side. And so Lucius had submitted to Harry's dominance over the meetings, with a frustration that was so thick Harry could practically taste it in the air. Harry loved it.

As for Draco, he had been quiet and a bit distant the morning after the Yule Gala – constantly shooting worried and speculative glances Harry's way – but the day after that was Yule, and the holiday festivities succeeded in distracting the blond quite thoroughly, and things seemed to have gone back to normal after that. Harry still wasn't sure what to think about Draco's outburst during the ball, or his seemingly _jealous_ reaction. But Draco was a very possessive and spoiled boy, and Harry could definitely imagine Draco seeing Harry as being some sort of prized possession that was _his, and his alone. _The idea that, to Draco, Harry was something to be coveted, but not shared.

It at least seemed to explain away Draco's behavior, which nothing else really did. Nothing _rational_ at least. And since Draco had not made even one attempt during the entire holiday, after the ball, to discuss the whole 'Dark Lord' thing, and the subject had been entirely avoided and dropped otherwise, Harry considered the matter closed for now.

Finally the holiday drew to a close and Harry returned with Draco on the Hogwarts Express. The train back to Hogsmeade was on a Friday, giving the students the weekend to get back into the proper mindset for returning to classes, but also, Harry suspected, to give all the procrastinators an opportunity to try and cram in all of their holiday homework assignments, at the last minute, before Monday morning.

The Friday night return feast was a lively affair, filling the Great Hall with excited chatter as everyone recounted to their friends, just what they did for the brief break, and what sorts of new toys and trinkets they had acquired. Harry had been inclined to skip the whole thing, as he was apt to do for nearly all school feasts, but Draco refused to let him and dragged him along with, instead.

Later that night, Draco shooed the rest of their dorm mates out of the room and hauled Harry over to his bed before drawing the curtains around them and casting muffling charms. Harry eyed him with wide, bewildered eyes, wondering what the hell had gotten into the blond, when Draco suddenly turned to him and demanded details about the Dark Lord.

Harry wondered if Draco had waited until they returned to Hogwarts, and the safety of their dorm room and its inherent secrecy contract, as a sign to Harry that he could trust Draco, or if Draco had done it to protect _himself_. This was possible since the secrecy contract had protections in it, against being forced to ever testify in magical court and share information that was held within the restraints of the contract.

Harry had sat back, cross-legged, on one end of the bed and observed Draco for a silent moment before responded. "Well, what exactly do you want to know?" he asked cautiously.

Draco's jaw floundered for a moment, but Harry suspected it was because Draco was trying to pick one of many thoughts from his head, not because he had no thoughts at all.

"I... well, how the hell... I mean – I don't know! Anything! Everything! How come the two of you seem so close now? How can you _be_ that close with the Dark Lord? What's he like? Mother always said he was a bit..." Draco trailed off and looked at Harry with a slight indication of hesitant worry before switching to determination, instead. "I just want to understand, and right now I don't."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. I can't tell you much, Draco, as I'm sure you can understand."

Draco looked very frustrated by that, but grudgingly nodded his head.

"I'll tell you one detail that I told your father, just three weeks ago. The Dark Lord and I share a mental connection. We can communicate, almost telepathically, over great distances. Location has no effect on it, as far as I've ever been able to tell – although honestly, I haven't really tested it much in that regard. We can feel each others emotions, and can send thoughts into each other's mind. We can even enter each others minds and see through the other's eyes, or sift through their memories, like a Legilimens could if he were standing in front of you with a wand."

Draco's eyes widened and his lips parted in stunned shock, and even fear.

"Are you saying that he could be in your head, watching us right now?"

"No, no – well, technically, _yes_, he could – but I'd know if he was. And he's not. We don't really take advantage of the connection on any regular basis, just out of respect for each others privacy. I haven't actively gone into his head in nearly two years. The most we ever regularly do is open the mental connection enough for our emotions to bleed through. We don't even really _speak_ to each other through it, although we really could."

Draco frowned. "Well, what do you do,then?"

"We've got a linked pair of of those Protean-charmed book, like the ones I made for you and I to share. He and I write back and forth in the books to send information and things to each other. Sometimes we schedule a sort of planned chat and both sit down with the book at the same time. When we do that, we open our mental connection so that we can write to each other and sort of tell what the other is feeling."

Draco's eyes widened again and his brows slowly inched their way into his forehead. "And how long have you been doing this for?"

"Oh... Merlin, I guess it's been over a year and a half? A bit over a year... well, technically, I started writing to him nearly two years ago, but back then he would only occasionally write something back – questions and things for clarification on whatever I'd been writing to him about – but eventually he started writing back a lot more, and we got into the habit of setting up the chat meetings at some point along the way."

"That long?" Draco exclaimed. "What have you been writing about!"

"Loads of things," Harry said with a shrug. "My writings have come up a lot. He's sort of my editor, actually," Harry added with a chuckle.

Draco looked like he was about to choke on his own tongue. "The _Dark Lord_ reads over your articles? Wait – did he read over that one you wrote about purebloods inbreeding?" Draco asked, looking horrified.

"I actually hadn't intended to submit that one to MP, but Mar– _The Dark Lord_ talked me into it."

"No way! I don't believe it!" Draco exclaimed.

"It's true. Since it was first printed, he's organized a 'study' to be conducted – and by 'he' I mean, 'Marcus Veras' since he's doing this in a legitimate public sort of venue – to study the power levels of witches and wizards of various ancestral backgrounds, as a way to confirm or deny the content of my article. We've already enlisted the volunteered services of a number of powerful purebloods who are all hoping to prove my article false," Harry chuckled. "I need the data for a book I've been working on for a while. It'll also be used to validate some legislation he intends to try and get passed in the next couple years."

"This is... this is just insane. How – I mean, are you sure he's really the Dark Lord? I grew up hearing stories... I mean, everyone _knows_ he's the most powerful wizard to come along in centuries, and that he was a magical _genius_, but..." Draco trailed off and got a look in his eyes as if he were afraid to continue speaking his mind.

"But – he's also known to have been utterly insane, violent, and had the tendency to randomly maim and torture anyone around him?" Harry offered up, grinning in amusement.

Draco flushed and glanced around as if he were afraid someone might have heard. "Don't just say it like that!" Draco hissed, warningly.

Harry chuckled. "Don't be so paranoid, Draco. He's better now. I fixed him."

Draco leaned back a bit as if he were thrown by in confusion by that statement. "_You_ fixed him? What?"

"Our mental link stabilized his insanity. Uhm... think of it like, I'm grounding him and giving him a foundation of sanity to work off of."

"Wow... really?"

Harry made an affirmative-sounding humming noise before stretching his arms over his head and yawning. "Okay, that's really as much as you're going to get out of me right now, Draco. I really need to get some sleep."

Draco's expression instantly fell into a frustrated pout but he did eventually give in with a sigh and pull the hangings back so they could go their separate ways and prepare for bed.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: I finally found a good stopping point and realized it was a 35 page long chapter. So I cut it in half. This is the first half.

In other, totally unassociated news, I would like to share my latest hobby/geek acquisition – I got a Makerbot Replicator. XD I've been posting my progress over the last week of my experiments and such with it.

aya-macchiato. tumblr. com

– – – – –

**Chapter 14**

– –

_Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs that a deceiver will never lack victims for his deceptions._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

The following morning was a Saturday and Harry found himself awake early enough for breakfast, despite the initial plan he'd had to have a nice lie in that day, instead. The Great Hall was sparsely populated, since most had not yet escaped from the holiday lull enough to find the will power to wake up that early. Harry was half-way through his meal when Snape pushed his way dramatically through the large double-doors and strode purposefully towards the Slytherin table – and Harry.

A sense of foreboding instantly filled Harry and he watched the man cautiously as he approached. Snape came to stand directly behind Harry and sneered over at a third year sitting a few spots down who'd been watching with rapt curiosity. The boy quickly ducked his head and pretended to go back to his food.

"Potter," Snape began in a low tone, "there are several individuals from the Ministry here to see you."

Harry felt himself stiffen slightly, wondering what the hell this might be about. "Did they say which department?"

"The Department for the Health and Welfare of Wizarding Children," Snape drawled and Harry groaned.

"Oh bloody great," Harry grumbled in annoyance as he grabbed a slice of toast off of his plate and quickly stood up. As soon as Harry was standing, Snape wasted little time in turning and striding quickly from the Great Hall. Harry followed his brisk pace easily and the two were soon making their way through the halls. After a brief bit of walking, Harry felt fairly sure he knew where they were going, and his suspicions were confirmed as Snape brought him to a door in the west wing on the second floor that was commonly used for meetings with outside visitors.

Snape pushed the door open and Harry entered to find two witches and a wizard, already seated at a rectangular table situated in the center of the room. One of the witches was short, dumpy, had curly graying hair and a very round face. The other was tall, slim, had black hair with bits of white strewn about in it and was tied back in a very prim bun on the back of her head. She had high, sharp cheekbones and pinched lips. The man was short, squat, and round. His head was bald and as if to make up for it, he had an exceptionally large handle-bar mustache beneath his nose.

Harry recognized all three of them, and had to fight the urge to groan yet again. This certainly wasn't the first life where Harry had been forced to deal with the Children's Welfare Department, but it was always something he strove to avoid for as long as possible.

"Thank you Professor Snape," the thin, sharp-faced woman said in a proper tone with a raised tilt of her head. "That will be all."

Snape's eyes narrowed with obvious annoyance at the dismissal. "I am Mr. Potter's Head of House. Perhaps I should remain with him?"

Harry cocked a single brow, wondering if Snape was actually suggesting this so he could help Harry, if needed, or if the man was just curious as to what was going on. Chances were it was a combination of both, honestly, and Harry wasn't entirely convinced he needed or wanted the man's help at the moment.

"I suppose that would be up to Mr. Potter, wouldn't it?" the round-faced woman said, giving Harry a supportive, encouraging smile. Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He hated people who talked down to him as if he were a child – using that overly sweet, condescending sort of tone.

"Thank you, Professor, but I think I can handle this on my own," Harry said, giving a small dip of his head to the dark-haired wizard beside him. Snape observed him for a moment before nodding his head as well.

"Fine then, Potter. I will be in my office, if you need to speak with me afterwards."

Harry thanked him and Snape quickly left, closing the door behind him.

"Please, Mr. Potter – Have a seat," the sharp-faced woman said, gesturing with her hand towards the chair that sat opposite them on the wide rectangular table. Harry strode over calmly, pulled out the chair and sat. "I am Epricia Butterfield, Head of the Department for the Health and Welfare of Wizarding Children. These are my colleagues, Mr. Anthony Baker, and Ms. Merium Turner.

"Now, Mr. Potter, we have come here today because of a number of reasons. The fact of the matter is that there is no legal guardian recorded on file for you, and there has not been one, since your parents' unfortunate end, more than thirteen years ago," she said this with a rather hard-faced stare, as if it were somehow _Harry's_ fault that their files were blank – which it sort of_ was,_ honestly.

She moved a view bits of parchment out from in front of her, exposing a manila folder with his name written along the tab at the top. She opened it and revealed a small stack of papers within. "Now, Mr. Potter, this oversight has gone uncorrected for as long as it has, primarily because previous attempts to accurately record such information has been blocked by individuals insisting that the secrecy of your home was of the utmost importance, in order to properly keep you safe and protected. It has recently been revealed, however, that even the individual who had been assuring us, all along, that you were somewhere safe and secure, did not in fact have any idea where you were _at all_."

Now she _definitely_ looked like she was annoyed and her already pinched lips became even thinner than before. The only consolation was that she didn't appear to be angry with _Harry_ specifically, over this, but was more likely angry with the 'individual', whom Harry knew was obviously Dumbledore.

Deciding to take a chance, Harry spoke up at this point to ask a question. "So what changed, exactly, that you've decided to come to me directly, _now_?" Harry asked.

Madam Butterfield sat up straighter. "Two petitions have been lodged for legal guardianship and custody of you."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he subtly clenched his fists.

"Two? All of a sudden?" Harry asked with a bored indifference that he did not really feel, but could fake easily enough.

"Headmaster Albus Dumbledore issued the first petition," the round-faced Ms. Turner said with a sort of girlish excitement.

Madam Butterfield's lips curled into a subtle distaste and it was clear to Harry just what _she_ thought about Dumbledore and his petition.

Harry controlled his reactions and progressed with the next question, instead. "And the second petition?" he asked.

"Two days following Headmaster Dumbledore's petition, Sirius Black lodged one of his own," Madam Butterfiled answered. "Seeing as how Mr. Black was the individual legally designated by your parent's will as your legal guardian, his petition would normally take precedent, however, Mr. Black's mental state and his suitability as a proper guardian, given his lengthy stay in Azkaban prison, has been called into question by the solicitor firm working for Mr. Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes widened. _This_ was interesting. How long had this been going on, anyway? Obviously there was some contention going on in the shadows between Dumbledore and Sirius for the two of them to be going to head over this.

"But surely, Dumbledore couldn't be given legal guardianship over me, _anyway_, taking into account how horribly he bungled it when he was given control over my placement after my parents death?" Harry asked with mild incredulity. "He left me on a doorstep, _in a basket_ with only a single blanket and a dying warming charm, in the middle of the night _in November_. He left a _note_ for my muggle relatives and _left_. The level of neglect in that one event alone should deny him any claim over me."

Madam Butterfield's brows raised into her forehead and a glimmer of interest glowed in her dark grayish eyes, while Ms. Turner gave out a small horrified gasp and Mr Baker sputtered.

"Left you on a doorstep!" the wizard exclaimed.

"Oh dear, oh dear! How awful? Are you sure, Mr. Potter?" Ms. Turner said.

"Of course, I'm sure. I _remember _it. I remember nearly everything from my life; even from when I was very young. I've always had a rather exceptional memory. I woke up that night, _because I was so ruddy cold_, and when I didn't find anyone or anything familiar, I wandered off," Harry said, dismissively.

"You – _wandered off?_" Ms. Turner echoed with stunned disbelief.

"Yes. I was found in the morning by a muggle rubbish collector who called the police, who handed me off to the muggle child services, who placed me in a home for a short while. About a month later, a man showed up who told them that he was my father's brother. He took me in, and we ended up traveling abroad a lot. We spent more time than not in Wales, while we traveled to various countries in the summer – France more often than not since he had friends and family living there."

"Wait, hold on – what is this man's name? If he wants to gain legal custody of you, he'll have to put in a petition of his own and his merits will be judged against the merits of the other petitioners," Madam Butterfield said as she hastily flipped to a blank sheet of parchment and held a quill at the ready.

Harry heaved a sigh and looked towards the far end of the room with a forlorn, pensive sort of expression, now plastered across his face. "It doesn't matter much now. He died last summer."

"Oh dear!" Ms. Turner gasped softly.

"Who was this man, exactly, Mr. Potter?" Madam Butterfield asked, and while her voice was still all business, it had taken on a vaguely softer edge than before.

"He really _was_ my father's brother. _Illegitimate_, brother. Charlus Potter had a french mistress and they had a son a good ten years before my father was born. I guess it was during the time when Charlus and Dorea were trying their hardest to have children and beginning to lose hope that it would ever happen. His name was Michael Bernard."

Madam Butterfield quickly wrote this information down.

"You said that he died last summer?" she asked as soon as she was done.

"Yes, that's why I spent the summer in France. He was ill and I wanted to be there for him at the end. He died shortly after my fourteenth birthday."

"But what did you do, after that?" Ms. Turner asked, all worry and concern.

"I stayed with friends," Harry said with a shrug.

"And you never told anyone that your guardian had died?" Madam Butterfield asked, clearly annoyed. "What were you intending to do this coming summer?"

Harry shrugged dismissively again, "Stay with a friend again. I've already got several options available to me. It's not something I was worried about. I've even been considering just renting a flat in London, on my own and having the goblins ward it for me. Its not like _money _is a problem for me. Even without my inheritance and trust fund, I make a very decent commission for my work printed in Magical Policy Magazine. Micheal always kept me involved in every aspect of our lives, so I'm fully aware of all the little details adults usually tend to like rent, utility bills, rubbish removal, and such."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but that is simply not acceptable," Madam Butterfield said sternly. "You are still a minor and you must be in the custody of an adult guardian who can make sure that you are being properly looked after."

Harry heaved an annoyed sigh, having known all along that this was coming. Instead of trying to convince them he was capable of taking care of himself, he instead focused on going over in his mind what his best options at the moment actually were.

"I suppose it truly is for the best that this matter has been brought to our attention now, at this early point. There are still five months to get the matter sorted out before you have to go somewhere for the summer. Normally, we would expect a simple custody petition of an orphan to be dealt with much faster than that, but with two petitioners who both seem so committed to fighting for each of their claims, and with the two of them going at it –"

"Three," Harry said, cutting her off.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"There's going to be three. By the end of the day, I guarantee that there will be a third petitioner."

She blinked in surprise. "Who?"

Harry smirked. "You'll know by the end of the day."

– –

"THE MALFOYS!" Sirius bellowed as he tossed the thick parchment letter down on Dumbledore's desk in front of him in a fit of anger and frustration.

"Sirius, please calm down," Remus said in as calming a voice as he could manage, given how unsettled he was feeling as well.

"This is all _your fault!"_ Sirius growled, pointing an accusing finger at the wizened old man sitting behind the desk, stroking his long beard, thoughtfully.

"My fault?" the man said with innocent confusion that Sirius did not believe for even an instant. Not anymore.

"Yes, _your fault!_ If you hadn't put in that petition for becoming Harry's guardian, in the first place, none of this would have even started!" Sirius yelled.

"I was only doing what you would not," Dumbledore said, staring sternly back at Sirius in the way that was intended to make him feel guilty, but really only served to piss him off more.

"Harry _didn't want_ anything to do with me. He made that perfectly clear to me a year ago in that cave. He's obviously been doing fine up until now –"

"We have _no idea_ where he's been or who he has been living with," Dumbledore pointed out firmly.

"It sounded to me like he'd been on his own and not living with _anyone_," Sirius pointed out with a sarcastic lilt in return – they'd had this conversation too many times, at this point.

"And he's been far too young to be on his own, surely you cannot argue that point."

"In the past – maybe. But he's fourteen now – nearly fifteen. I ran away from home at fifteen."

"And right into the home of James and his parents – not out to live on your own," Dumbledore retorted.

"This pointless bickering is a waste of time." Remus stated in a calm, but loud tone that drew in the attention of the two arguing men. "It doesn't matter what started it, the thing we have to face now is the fact that it's no longer just the two of _you_ fighting over Harry, now it's you two, versus Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

"Well they can't have him!" Sirius bellowed. "It's ridiculous to even consider! All these years, the Ministry has been turning a blind eye to where ever the hell Harry has been, specifically so that there was no record of it that some Death Eater could track down and use to find him. There's no way that they could place him in the _home of a Death Eater!_ That's just _absurd!_"

"Harry has spent the last two winter holidays with the Malfoy family and come to no harm," Remus pointed out cautiously. "It would also, obviously, be a bad idea on Lucius' part, to let any harm come to Harry while in his custody."

"I don't damn well _care_ about that! The idea is still just ridiculous! There's no way that the Ministry could even be taking this seriously!"

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Dumbledore said gravely. "As it stands, the Malfoys have the best chance of successfully gaining custody of Harry."

"What!" Sirius exclaimed incredulously.

"Had my petition been the only one, I could have had a slight chance at successfully gaining custody of Harry, so long as the petition wasn't objected to by someone else. I had, honestly, been hoping that this action would cause whomever has been looking after Harry, all these years, to expose himself to us, in order to protest the petition. Even after you added your petition into the pot, I still felt that this could still take place, however now it doesn't seem likely. I always knew that I would have a weak case in any custody battle – I am old, single, and already have a great many responsibilities that almost constantly draw in my attention and time. I also have no blood relation to Harry, and James and Lily never left any legal documents naming me in any sort of official capacity in relation to Harry. Therefore I always knew that between you and I, you would have the greater chance of gaining custody of the boy."

Sirius scoffed, "That didn't stop you from sending your solicitor after me as soon as I threw my hat in the ring! All that rubbish about psych evaluations! What the hell, Albus?"

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh. "Honestly, Sirius, I still am not sure how I feel about you trying to take Harry in on your own."

"You were the one who was telling me, all that time, to petition for his custody!" Sirius bellowed.

"I wanted you to gain custody of him and _let us help you_ in looking after the boy. Let Molly and Arthur help, and even Remus. Now –"

"I'm not handing him over to the Order, like some sort of prisoner, if he wants nothing to do with you," Sirius said in a cold, firm tone, glaring daggers at Dumbledore. "And trying to put him in with the Weasley's is just a disaster waiting to happen. From what Remus tells me, that Ron kid has been a right arse to Harry since they first started here. You can't honestly believe that you could somehow force the two of them to get buddy-buddy?"

"We're getting off track again!" Remus said with mild frustration.

"Yes, we are," Dumbledore conceded. "As I said, right now, the unfortunate truth of the matter is that the Malfoys have the best claim on Harry."

"That's rubbish!" Sirius growled.

"Sirius, _please –"_ Dumbledore said, pinning Sirius with an impatient glare that shut the now-brooding man up. "My case, as I said, is the weakest. Your's is stronger on two counts – you were designated his guardian by James and Lily, and you are a blood relation to the boy. However, given the lengthy time you spent in Azkaban in solitary confinement and visited daily by Dementors, there are many who would seriously doubt your ability to still be sane after all this time, and the matter will undoubtedly be brought up as a point of dispute."

"But _I'm not crazy!"_ Sirius growled.

"Yes, Sirius, _we know that_," Remus said gently, "but others would question your mental stability, and argue against how capable you would be at raising a child."

"He's nearly fifteen! How hard can it be? It's not like he's a baby in diapers!"

Remus pinned Sirius with a glare, and Sirius huffed and folded his arms over his chest.

"I still don't see how the Malfoy's could have a better claim on him then _I _do," Sirius grumbled bitterly.

"Blood relation always supersedes other points, in the eyes of the wizarding children's services," Dumbledore explained gently. You and Narcissa are both of an equal relation to Harry, biologically. You share the exact same level of relation to him, so that puts you on equal footing. You have the blessing of Harry's parents, but that designation was made over thirteen years ago and will have much less weight _now_ then it would have, when Harry was first orphaned. So instead the court will examine which of the two of you are more fit to serve as guardians to a teenaged boy. Narcissa is married, and already a mother of a teenaged boy. Her husband is gainfully self-employed, manages several business ventures as well as his family's not-inconsiderable investments and old-money fortune, and has been fully participating in his duties with the Wizengamot for more than a decade. On top of that, the pair of them already have a son who is the same age as Harry, and who is already _Harry's best friend._ You, in contrast, have spent more than a decade in prison, utterly isolated from human contact and social interaction."

"And whose fault was that! The Ministry's!"

"They will not care whose fault it was, Padfoot," Remus sighed with resigned frustration. "From face value, without taking extenuating, circumstantial, evidence into account, the Malfoys look to be a much more appropriate set of guardians to take Harry in."

"But Malfoy is a Deatheater!" Sirius whined.

"Maybe, but legally, he was exonerated and acquitted of all charges," Remus pressed gently.

Sirius let out a frustrated growl before tossing himself down into one of the overly squashy chairs that sat opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"And of course, the final nail in the coffin, being that Harry himself, is in favor of the Malfoy's petition," Remus went on, moving around and sitting down in the chair next to Sirius'.

Sirius groaned and let his head fall into his hands.

"Sirius..." Dumbledore began cautiously a moment later. "I ask you again to please consider speaking with Harry, in person? Or at least, in a letter? Obviously we have no chance at all, if Harry himself is so hard pressed against our petitions."

Sirius heaved a frustrated sort of growling sigh and ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I just can't believe this is happening... James and Lily's son, the legal ward of Lucius _Malfoy_, and _prissy cousin Cissy._ It's just ridiculous. I mean, what if they hurt him? Who is going to be there to protect Harry?" Sirius asked, suddenly looking over at Remus with worried desperation in his eyes.

Remus heaved a sigh. "Sirius, I honestly don't think that Lucius Malfoy would really risk ruining _everything_ that he has worked so long and hard for, by bringing any suspicion down upon himself in such a way. If something did happen to Harry, the wizard baring the Dark Mark on his forearm would likely be the first person questioned."

Sirius sneered in disgust. "But Malfoy is such a slimy little snake, he'd probably manage to worm his way out of trouble, just like he did after the last war. He was caught red-handed and yet he _still_ managed to get off without even a scratch on his pristine little record. He's a sneaky, lying, twisted bastard, and I'm not about to risk my godson's life by letting him fall into that arse's hands!"

Remus heaved another slightly frustrated sigh, but apparently opted not to waste his breath arguing any further.

"Honestly, I must admit that one of my greater concerns is what Lucius Malfoy would do with access to Harry's not-inconsiderable political power in the Wizengamot," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh of his own as he sat back in his chair and began to stroke his hand down his long beard.

"What political power?" Sirius asked, looking taken aback for a moment before he frowned in thought.

"James did have seats in the House of Lords," Remus said, nodding his head. "I remember how taken aback he was when he was first approached about sitting in on the Wizengamot meetings, after his mother and father had died."

"Oh, Merlin! I'd forgotten all about that!" Sirius exclaimed before turning his focus back to Dumbledore. "So, what you're saying is that whoever becomes Harry's guardian can vote his seats for him until he comes of age?"

Dumbledore sat forward and nodded his head, looking grave. "Yes. That is correct, and I must admit that I am greatly troubled by the prospect of Lucius Malfoy gaining such a tremendous advantage."

"Surely it can't be _that_ big of an advantage? I thought that Charlus and Dorea only left James five or six seats?" Remus said.

Dumbledore lay his elbows on the table and steepled his hands together below his chin. "Unfortunately, it is considerably more trouble than just five or six votes. A number of lines that have otherwise died, over the last ten years, have willed their seats to Harry upon the death of the last living heir, now leaving him with a grand total of 14 seats."

Remus gasped and even Sirius, who had always made an effort to learn as little as possible about wizarding politics, found himself rather stunned.

"Fourteen?" Remus exclaimed in a stunned whisper.

"Yes. Fourteen. It makes Harry the single largest holder of seats in the entire House of Lords. As things stand right now, the House of Lords is divided almost evenly down the center between the Tories and the Whigs, with a small collection of moderates who generally decide the outcomes of most legislation with their swing votes. Having such an even split of strongly divided individuals has generally resulted in nearly nothing getting accomplished on either side for a great many years now.

"This has, of course, been frustrating in our own efforts to pass, modify, and repeal legislation, but it has also meant that the Tories have been unable to do the same. If Lucius Malfoy were able to suddenly gain reliable, consistent, access to an additional _fourteen votes_ – even only for the next two years until Harry turns seventeen – it would drastically tip the scale in the Tories favor. They would have a clear majority in the House of Lords, and, unfortunately, they tend to have the deepest pockets, and the members of the House of Commons are often easily bought. It could be devastating to our goals."

Sirius growled in frustration. "I bloody _hate_ politics." He scowled at his hands, clasped in his lap for several long seconds after that before a spark seemed to glimmer in his eyes. They then narrowed and slowly rose to pin Dumbledore down with blatant suspicion. "Tell me something, Albus – if, by chance, _your_ petition for custody over Harry had actually succeeded, would _you_ have tried to start voting Harry's seats? I mean – with the stalemate that's been going on all these, years, I imagine such a boon in votes would really benefit you Whigs."

"Sirius!" Remus exclaimed in an almost gasp – apparently shocked that Sirius would even suggest such a thing.

"I would not have done anything without consulting Harry first," Dumbledore stated firmly.

"Mm Hm," Sirius hummed in a rather skeptical tone.

The three were silent for several heavy and awkward beats after that, until Remus spoke up again. "Albus..." he began hesitantly, "as I understand it, you lead the Wizengamot's House of Lords right now because the Whigs hold the majority, but only just barely, and you're the Whig's majority leader. If Lucius Malfoy _was_ able to claim Harry's seats as occupied by a member of the Tory party, then the Tories would officially become the majority and... well, isn't _Lucius Malfoy_ the house minority leader right now? Would he not become the head of the Wizengamot if this went through?"

"Oh great bloody Merlin," Sirius groaned miserably, as he let his face fall into his hands, realizing the full repercussions.

Dumbledore merely nodded his head with grave solemnity. "Yes Remus; you are correct."

– –

"My father can't adopt you!" Draco exclaimed in an outraged tone, so loudly that his voice cracked.

Harry turned to look over his shoulder from where he'd been bending over his desk, scratching away a note, and looked at Draco with surprised incredulity.

"Why not? And besides, he's not _adopting me_, he's just gaining custody of me – there is actually a distinction between the two."

"I don't bloody well care about the distinction! He can't do it!"

"_Why?_" Harry asked, legitimately bewildered.

"Because – because we'd be _brothers_ then! We can't be _brothers_!"

"We wouldn't _be_ brothers," Harry said, slightly exasperated and twisting around until he was sitting on the edge of his bed so he could look more properly on Draco and try to make sense of this unexpected reaction. "And even if we were – would that really be so awful? I thought you _liked_ me, Draco. Is the idea of being my brother really so offensive?"

"What! No! I – that's not what I meant! Of course I don't find it offensive, and I _do _like... like you. I just... well, it would be _weird_ – don't you think?" Draco said, ending a bit awkwardly and flushing pink in the cheeks.

Harry frowned at the blond, wondering what had gotten into him.

"I honestly don't see how anything would change at all, actually," Harry said, matter-of-factly. "I'm merely doing this to make sure that neither Albus Dumbledore, nor anyone who is loyal to him, gets any legal say over my not-inconsiderable number of house seats in the Wizengamot. The Whigs have had a marginal majority for more than a decade – basically ever since a handful of the holders of Tory seats ended up locked away in Azkaban or kissed after the last war came to an abrupt and unexpected end. But the Whig's majority has been small enough that those Tories remaining have held back some of the more extreme legislation that Dumbledore and his lot would have put through.

"But if they gained _my_ fourteen seats – even for only a couple years, until I reach my majority – it would be a _disaster_. This arrangement has a wonderful benefit of keeping me out of Dumbledore's wrinkled old hands, _and_ giving me early access to vote my seats, through your father. Honestly, seeing all the benefits the plan has, now, I can't help but wonder why it never occurred to me to do it before. It's actually rather fantastic."

Draco's brows creased together in apparent thought for several beats. "But what if you and Father disagree on any items brought up before the Wizengamot? You honestly trust my father to vote your fourteen seats the way you want them voted, and not by what he might want instead?"

"Do I _trust_ your father...? No, not explicitly. I do, however, trust that I understand his motivations, his goals, and his loyalties. I also feel fairly sure that he will continue make every effort to never piss off the Dark Lord, and if he pissed me off, he'd be pissing off the Dark Lord by extension –_ and your father knows that_. So I do feel fairly confident that your father would not intentionally go against my wishes, as far as my Wizengamot votes are concerned."

Draco blinked, but his face was blank otherwise. "Oh," he said, somewhat curtly.

"On top of that, I actually don't think it's even an issue that I'll have to worry about. Shockingly enough, as far as politics are concerned, right now your father and I are quite firmly on the same side of the pressing issues of the day. I honestly don't think that he and I will find ourselves on opposite ends of any issues in the coming years."

Draco looked skeptical for a moment before heaving a frustrated sigh and letting himself flop down onto the edge of his own bed, directly across from Harry. Harry couldn't help but think that Draco looked like he was sulking.

"Honestly, though, Draco – I don't quite understand why you're so upset by this whole thing. I mean, it's not like there's any potential for me usurping your claim as heir. That's just ridiculous, you know that right?"

"Of course I do!" Draco snapped, sounding offended.

"Well, then what's the deal?"

"I just... I_ don't know_, alright? It just... I don't like it. We can't be brothers."

"And we _won't be_," Harry said with as much patience as he could muster, considering how irrational and ridiculous he felt Draco was being at the moment.

"What, _exactly_, will we be to each other?" Draco asked cautiously.

Harry frowned. "Nothing really. I'll be Lucius' ward. He and your mother will be my guardians, but like I said – this _isn't_ an adoption. As my guardians, your parents will officially gain legal authority, and the corresponding duty to care for personal and property interests of me. Honestly, it's a big deal for me to hand this kind of power over to your parents, but I'd rather they have it than Dumbledore."

"But what about your godfather?" Draco asked, frowning with doubt.

Harry heaved a sigh and let himself fall back so that he was laying on his bed and now staring up at the overhead canopy. He reached up and laced his fingers behind his head. "I can't trust Sirius to help me, and I don't want to risk giving Dumbledore this control and power, via Sirius. Even if there seems to be evidence at the moment, suggestion that there is some contention between the two of them, I have no guarantee that will remain the case. Dumbledore is very good at persuading, manipulating, and _guilting_ people, into doing what he wants.

"I don't doubt for an instant that he could convince Sirius that it would be '_for my own good'_ to ignore whatever opinions I might have on certain issues, in favor of getting whatever Dumbledore wants, through the convoluted legislative process. I also know that Sirius Black doesn't know a damn thing about how the Wizengamot works, and has never even considered the possibility of sitting in on any of the legislative sessions and casting a vote."

Draco looked taken aback. "What? That's madness! He was the eldest son, of the Head of House Black! Surely he would have been trained in –"

"He refused. He avoided it like the plague and let it all fall onto his younger brother's shoulders," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand in the air over his head.

"How do you know that?" Draco asked, skeptically.

"Doesn't matter," Harry replied in a bored tone.

Draco grumbled, rolled his eyes, and let himself slide back a bit in his own position on his bed, so that his elbows were resting on the bed behind him, propping him up slightly.

"I can't help but wonder how you managed to go this long without a guardian, and not having the Ministry realize it," Draco mused a moment later.

"Luck, I suppose. That, and the fact that Dumbledore didn't want to admit he'd blundered my placement so badly. I'm just lucky that he considered it more important that he hide his mistake, than get help from the Ministry, finding me. He probably didn't trust the Ministry to properly 'protect' me, if they got involved in my upbringing, and if it got out, at all, that he'd managed to lose me on the night he 'left' me with my new guardians, the Ministry would have no-doubt taken over my placement. It was a gamble, really, as to what he'd do. I'm just fortunate that he worked to keep it a secret, since that's worked out rather well for me."

Draco made a humming sort of noise and sighed. Silence descended between them for several long beats after that.

"I suppose it won't be so bad," Draco mused, finally. "You can stay with us over the summer. That'll be nice. The Manor can get rather boring when I'm cooped up there on my own, and Mother only lets me invite friends over so often."

Harry chuckled. "An in-house, 24-7 playmate."

Draco scrunched up his face. "You make it sound like we're children when you describe it like that."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, we're definitely not that. And don't get the wrong idea – I won't be sticking around all the time, all summer long. I'll be working a bit, and who knows what else. Not really sure yet, but don't think I'll be able to spend the whole summer lazing around with you out on the pitch or shopping for new robes and trinkets."

Draco's lower lip stuck out in a mild pout before he huffed out a sigh and let himself fall fully back onto the bed.

"But we will have time to do that, _some _of the time – right?" he asked finally.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, sure."

– –

_Men shrink less from offending one who inspires love than one who inspires fear._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Two weeks into second term Harry found that Snape had slipped him a note in between the pages of a returned essay, during Potions class. The note was very short and simple – very standard fare for Snape – simply telling him to come to Snape's office later that evening after dinner, and neglecting to mention any sort of reason for the summons.

Nothing particularly eventful had happen _recently_, but there were quite a few slow-progressing things going on around him, so Harry wasn't sure which of many possibilities, this meeting might be about.

Harry and Marvolo had begun making some tentative plans for legislative moves they could take, once they had access to Harry's fourteen votes in the Wizengamot. Having access to such a boon gave them the opportunity to move up quite a few things that they had planned doing later, or over a more gradual period of time, since any legislation would have been slow and difficult to get through before.

The two had already established a routine of 'meeting' with the protean-charmed books so they could write back and forth in real-time, every Wednesday night and Sunday night. By this point, they had already had four meeting/planning sessions since Harry returned to Hogwarts – one was in fact, the previous evening – so Harry didn't think that whatever Snape had to say to him was likely to be directly related to any of his work with Marvolo.

After dinner, he departed from the rest of his year mates and made his way to Snape's office. Just as nearly all times before, the door was opened a moment after he knocked, he was beckoned inside to sit, and the door was locked and privacy wards were thrown up behind him. Snape took his own seat behind the desk and Harry waited patiently for the man to start things.

Snape looked both annoyed and resigned when he met Harry's eyes. "The Headmaster is insistent that I try to use my influence as your Head of House and as a... _respected mentor_ –" he drawled this sarcastically and rolled is eyes, "to convince you of the merits of meeting with Sirius Black to discuss his petition for your custody."

Harry snorted. "Is that so?" he asked in amusement.

Snape's upper lip curled into a sneer.

"So when is it, exactly, that I'm supposed to be meeting with Mr. Black?" Harry asked, leaning back casually and crossing one leg over the other knee.

"The coming weekend is a Hogsmeade visit. Their hope is that you would meet with him at the Hogshead."

"The Hogshead?" Harry asked with mild surprise. "Why not the Three Broomsticks? Why Dumbledore's brother's pub?"

"No doubt they're trying to avoid too many witnesses seeing the two of you together. The Three Broomsticks is generally overrun with students during Hogsmeade weekends. None of your petitioners are supposed to meet with you, in person, without a Child Services representative present for oversight, while the petitions are going through the courts."

"Ah. Yes, that sounds about right. I can see them not wanting someone from the Ministry present while we have our little _chat_. For that matter, I wouldn't want anyone from the Ministry their either."

"So are you considering meeting with him?" Snape asked, sounding slightly surprised by this.

Harry shrugged. "May as well. They'll just keep trying until I agree to do it. I may as well get it over with now. I might even be able to convince him to retract his petition. I doubt I could ever convince Dumbledore to do that, but if it's just Dumbledore versus the Malfoys, it'll be a quick process. They've got a much better claim than he does."

Snape gave a conceding tilt of his head. "Quite true. Initially, I wondered if you had lost your mind – actually considering giving Lucius such great deal of power over you – but after more consideration I can see the benefits in the arrangement," Snape mused and Harry smirked and nodded his head.

"It's true – honestly, I never would have considered doing it without the added incentive of Dumbledore's meddling, but now that I've started, I can't be happier with how things are working out. It gives us the opportunity to move up a lot of our plans."

"Our?"

Harry gave a one shouldered shrug with nothing more than an unapologetic, blank stare in return.

"Yes... well, as for the Malfoy's, I've known Lucius for a great many years, and I know that he is a very ambitious man. I would worry about giving him direct control over so much political power, but I also know that he is a very smart man, and has tremendous talent in self-preservation."

"Exactly," Harry said with a nod. "Plus, this arrangement benefits him so much with him going along with us, I can't imagine any plausible situation where he would decide to defy us. He both fears and respects the Dark Lord too much to risk his wrath, no matter what he thinks of _me_. And on top of that, we're giving him all this power that he's craved and worked for, for years. I know he appreciates that. It's what he wants."

"Do not think that Dumbledore will just sit back and allow this to happen, though," Snape said, seriously. "He, in contrast to Lucius, is set to lose a great deal by this arrangement. I can already tell that he's beginning to panic."

Harry frowned. "Do you have any idea what he might do? A desperate Albus is always the hardest one to predict."

"Yes, you are quite correct with that assertion. And no, I have no idea what he might be planning. I think that part of him still hopes that he can convince you to to refuse Lucius access to your votes, while you are within the Malfoy's custody, as that is a distinction that can be included in the guardianship arrangement. He seems to think that your refusal to help his cause was entirely because you wished to be uninvolved in any future conflict, and not because of any political ideals that you might personally hold. From what little he has confided in me, he seems to believe that he can use the argument that you could continue to stay 'uninvolved' by refusing to allow your seats to be labeled by either party affiliation. What he will do when _that_ fails... I do not know."

Harry hummed and nodded his head thoughtfully. "What other things are going on, on that end of things, anyway? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"On 'that' side of things?" Snape echoed blandly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "The Order. Are they actually meeting regularly or anything? I have trouble imagining them really having enough to keep them busy, but I was never on that side of things during any kind of politically focused battle, rather than the more obvious violent actions taken during the last war."

"Many of the 'Old Lot' have very little to do, that is true," Snape said with a nod of his head. "The Headmaster has only just recently started to notice some of the more subtle political maneuvers the Dark Lord has begun driving from the shadows, and so he has only just barely begun to call together any allies he has that have more political power. Also, he only just barely suspects that any of these recent political actions might be being driven by the Dark Lord – he thinks that Lucius is more primarily behind them, actually.

"Dumbledore has spent so much of his efforts and intelligence gathering resources, trying to find the Dark Lord and any signs of 'traditional' Death Eater activity, that he has been neglecting his political duties for some time now, which is why I think he has missed so much of what's been going on until quite recently."

"What made him suddenly notice things? We haven't exactly been doing a lot yet," Harry asked, speculatively.

"I am unsure, however, from what he said, it seemed as if he just recently took note of a trend of political manipulation, spanning back over the last year and a half, and this trend has apparently disturbed him."

"Ooooh..." Harry said slowly as a grin spread over his face. "Well he _has_ been throwing around a lot of money and making all kinds of friends in interesting places..."

"He?"

"_He,"_ Harry said with emphasis and a smirk. It was clear from the grimace and widened eyes that Snape understood what he meant.

"I see."

Harry smirked for a moment before he focused on a distant spot on the wall and frowned. "It is unfortunate that Dumbledore decided to start actually paying attention, right when we're about to start actively introducing new legislation. It'll make it that much more important that my custody situation gets sorted out quickly so that we can make use of my votes during the summer session of the Wizengamot."

"Yes, well don't expect Dumbledore to make that an easy task for you."

"Never did," Harry said with a tired sigh. "So what does he have the Order doing right now, if anything? None of the members from any of my previous lives had much in the way of political influence. Diggle holds two seats... Muriel Prewett holds three seats that will go to Molly Weasley whenever the old bat dies, but that won't be for at least a decade, so that's not something to worry about. The only worry at all is if Dumbledore can get Sirius to..." Harry trailed off and grimaced. "Oh that would be just rubbish..."

Snape gave him a sardonic, humorless smirk and nodded his head. "He is already trying. Sirius has inherited control over a great number of votes, in fact. Dumbledore wants to see if he can argue to gain control over the seats that currently belong to any of Black's incarcerated relatives in Azkaban, as well."

"Wait – are you talking about Bellatrix? Because Narcissa would have a much better chance of getting those than Sirius would."

"And Andromeda would have an even better chance than Narcissa," Snape pointed out and Harry grimaced.

"Well, shite. Okay, that may be true, but Andromeda and Ted aren't exactly all that well-off, financially, and a legal battle between Andromeda and Narcissa over Bellatrix's two seats wouldn't exactly be all that worth it, and would probably bankrupt the Tonks and not even dent the vaults of the Malfoys. Chances are it would just drag on for over a year, in the court system, and never get anywhere. Plus, there's already precedent to refuse the release of seats held by an inmate of Azkaban. Hell – Sirius' own case and all the press it's gotten lately, is argument enough against such things. People wouldn't put up with it. Going after the seats held by anyone in Azkaban is a waste of time."

"Honestly, I agree, but as you pointed out earlier, a desperate-Albus, is an unpredictable one."

"Well, he's definitely getting desperate if he's thinking about going after prisoners for their house seats. So without adding in incarcerated relatives, how many seats of Sirius actually have?"

"You don't know?" Snape asked, with a surprised cocked eyebrow.

"Even in the lives where I saved Sirius early on, and he lived a long life and died old, he never once wanted anything to do with politics. But there was never a lot of incentive for it during any of those lines – never any meddling old men to guilt him into dealing with his _family responsibility_. So it never came up."

"I see. Black holds 7. Three from Orion Black, two from Walburga Black, and two from Alphard Black."

"Not bad, at all," Harry said nodding appreciatively. "I suppose that's just one more reason for me to meet with him this coming weekend."

"Oh?"

Harry looked back at Snape and grinned wickedly. "Dumbledore wants Sirius to convince me to see things their way – obviously, that's never going to work – but why can't I try doing the same thing to Sirius? Obviously, I'll never get Sirius to join us, but I think I can convince him not to side with Dumbledore, easily enough. I've got more than enough dirt on the man, and Sirius is already disillusioned with the system, _and_ Dumbledore. I know him better than just about anyone else still alive today – except for Remus. I think I've got a decent shot, honestly."

Snape looked back at him from across the desk, with obvious skepticism.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I'm not Jo Rowling – I don't own Harry Potter – I'm making no money off this.

**Chapter 15**

– –

"_The promise given was a necessity of the past: the word broken is a necessity of the present."_

_-Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Harry pulled open the door to the Hogshead with some effort, as the wind was blowing rather fiercely from behind him, trying to keep the door firmly in the closed position. He did manage to overcome the wind, however, and quickly entered the room, gladly letting the door close behind him, cutting him off from the frigid outside temperature. It was bloody _freezing_ outside, and the warmth of the Hogshead was a very welcome change.

It was Saturday morning, just before eleven o'clock, and Harry let his eyes travel over the dingy old pub in search of the man he had often considered family in previous iterations of his life. Harry wasn't terribly surprised when he didn't see him right away and made his way over to the bar and ordered a butterbeer, to wait.

It had actually been a bit of a challenge for Harry to convince Draco to leave him be for this visit. At first, Draco hadn't wanted to let Harry go _at all_, but Harry obviously wasn't going to put up with any such demands and Draco had switched tactics to insisting that Harry let Draco accompany him. That was also promptly refused, but that didn't stop Draco from being a bother about the subject for the last two days. Even when Harry had split off from the other Slytherins, just fifteen minutes ago, Draco had been scowling and pouting.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of Draco's behavior recently, whenever the subject of Harry's guardianship petitions was raised. Draco seemed to be a bit bi-polar on the matter, from what Harry could tell. There were times when Draco seemed horribly against the mere concept, and then other times, the teen seemed almost desperate to make sure that Harry ended up at Malfoy manor over the summer, no matter what. Harry had finally decided that he wasn't going to bother exerting anymore energy trying to understand what was going on in Draco's head, until Draco finally had himself sorted out enough to just _tell_ Harry, or get over it.

– –

Harry was sitting at the bar long enough to finish his pint of Butterbeer before Sirius finally showed up, and was practically pushed through the door by a powerful gust of bitter-cold wind. Harry was mildly surprised that Sirius hadn't just Floo'd directly into the pub, given how crappy the weather was.

Harry twisted on the bar stool that he was perched on and leaned lazily against the bar, watching as Sirius shook himself free of frost and snow and unwound a heavy woolen scarf from around his neck. A moment later their eyes met, and Sirius seemed to go somewhat pale, before clenching his jaw with determination and walking cautiously towards Harry.

He gave Harry a slight nod and offered his hand. "I, er – I'm Sirius Black."

Harry smirked and accepted the frigid hand. "I know. We _have_ met_, _if you'll recall."

Sirius grimaced slightly and gave Harry a somewhat embarrassed sort of grin. "Wasn't exactly one of my better days. There were times when I almost convinced myself I imagined the whole thing. If it weren't for the fact that I really had Peter, I... well, I guess none of that really matters anymore – does it?"

"Nope," Harry said, dismissively as he slid off the stool and turned to look at Aberforth, who was standing behind the bar pretending not to watch them while he wiped 'clean' a rather filthy looking mug. "You've got a private room set aside for us, right?"

Aberforth gave them a curt nod. "Tha's right. Up the stairs, first door on the left. Light the lamp by the door if you need anything."

Harry nodded and looked back at Sirius, expectantly, and made a gesture with his arm for Sirius to lead the way. It didn't take long for the pair to make their way up the stairs and into the room that had been designated for them. Sirius asked Harry if he wanted anything to eat or drink but Harry declined for now and instead the two situated themselves around the small round table that was placed in the center of the room.

Harry sat there with a calm indifference and folded his hands on the table in front of him while he waited for Sirius to stop fidgeting. It was quite clear that the man was nervous and uncomfortable. Harry tried not to let that get to him – it was weird being so distant from a man that Harry had been quite close to in far more lives than not, but Harry had been quite close to Ron in a number of his lives, and yet he'd managed to get used to being constantly at odds with him in this life. This wasn't anything Harry couldn't handle.

"So – uhm..." Sirius started, paused, and then cleared his throat before continuing. "So, back in the cave, you said that you already knew that I'm your godfather."

"That's right," Harry answered.

"Right... well, I knew your parents – obviously. Um, James – he and I were best mates, I guess. Cousins, technically, but I didn't actually meet him until first year. We shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and both ended up in Gryffindor, so we were roommates for seven years. I was the best man at your mum and dad's wedding, even. I –"

"I know," Harry said simply, but with a sense of finality that it apparently derailed whatever Sirius had been planning to say because he snapped his mouth shut rather abruptly.

"Er, right..." Sirius faltered, sucked in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know how you know the things you know – I mean, you knew I was an animagus, and _no one_ knows that. I don't know how you got Wormtail, or how you even _knew_ about Wormtail... I don't know how you knew about me being innocent, or any of that. And it doesn't even matter – I don't need to know if you aren't willing to tell me. But I owe you, Harry. And not just for getting Wormtail and handing him over to me – but I owe you for all the years I missed. I... I screwed up. I should have stayed with you that night your parents were killed, but I didn't. I ran off, like the hot-headed, irresponsible arse I've always been, and I –"

"Stop," Harry said in a firm commanding tone, halting Sirius' rant in its tracks. "I don't want to hear you apologize, or wallow in guilt. It's pointless, and it's a waste of both of our time. Nor do you owe me anything for Wormtail. Unless you want to reimburse me for the fifteen galleons I paid Ron Weasley to hand him over, but honestly, that seems a bit silly and I definitely don't need the money."

Sirius blinked in apparent surprised confusion.

"_Look,_ you're here because Dumbledore asked you to be here – right?" Harry said, leaning forward on the table, crossing his arms beneath him.

"What? No – not... well, not entirely," Sirius argued weakly.

"I suspect the only reason you even petitioned for guardianship over me when you finally did, was because Dumbledore did it first – you were perfectly content to leave me to my own means before that, but Dumbledore forced your hand – am I right?" Harry pressed on.

Sirius' lips moved slightly, but no denial came out, and a moment later he had closed his mouth again before sighing and nodding.

"Right. Well then, I think what we have here is a simple issue of us agreeing to disagree. I refuse to become any sort of legal ward of Albus Dumbledore. Plain and simple, I want nothing to do with the man. I appreciate that you made an effort to prevent him from gaining custody of me, but the unfortunate reality is that, even under your guardianship, I would still be within his sphere of influence, and I'm afraid that's just not okay with me."

Sirius frowned. "Wait – hold on... not that I'm going to deny any concerns you might have about the Headmaster, but is there something specific that he's done that has you so against the man?"

Harry sighed, sat back in his seat a bit and twisted up his mouth in thought. "I would say that there are too many small things to properly list them all, and many of them would simply leave you with more questions than answers, and I have no desire to go over all of them with you right now. Not only that, but I cannot honestly trust that you aren't going to go and repeat everything I say to you, to _him_, the moment this meeting is done."

"I won't!" Sirius exclaimed instantly. "You can trust me, Harry. _Please._"

Harry sighed and shook his head sadly. "I sort of wish I could, but things aren't that simple."

"But you can't honestly think you can trust the _Malfoy's_ instead?" Sirius said, incredulously. "I mean – it's one thing to want to keep out of Dumbledore's 'sphere of influence' but letting yourself end up the legal ward of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy is a hundred times worse! Harry – do you even know what Malfoy is? I don't think you really know what it is that you're getting yourself into! You can't! He –"

"He's a death eater – yes, I know," Harry stated simply, instantly deflating Sirius' quickly building rant.

Sirius sank back into his seat, staring at Harry with slightly parted lips. "But –"

"I'm not my father," Harry said in a firm, slightly cold tone.

"I know that," Sirius said, frowning.

"I'm a Slytherin," Harry pointed out lightly, and Sirius scowled for a moment before smoothing his features.

"I know that too."

"Have you read any of my articles for Magical Policy magazine?" Harry asked, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other knee and clasping his hands over them.

Sirius seemed a bit thrown by the sudden shift in topic, but slowly nodded. "Yeah, I've read a few of them. I saw that one you wrote about pureblood's and their excessive inbreeding," he smirked sardonically at this. "I liked that one."

Harry smirked. "I'm sure it struck a real cord, seeing as how your parents are first cousins."

Sirius snorted humorlessly and shrugged.

"Anyway, aside from that article, have you read many of the others?"

Sirius grimaced and gave Harry a somewhat sheepish expression. "I er... tried. They were a bit... I guess they were a bit more political than I usually like to read."

"What's your stance on wizarding politics?" Harry asked then.

Again, Sirius made a face and shrugged. "My stance is to stand as far away from politics as I can manage."

"So do you associate yourself at all with either of the two main parties?"

"Not the Tories," he said with a slight curl of his lips.

"Why? Because your family was made up, mostly, of Tories?" Harry asked, airily, "or because you honestly disagree with their policy goals?"

Sirius blinked at him with a slightly surprised glint in his eyes, and Harry continued.

"Do you agree with the Whigs? Do you disagree with the Tories? Or do you not actually know anything about what either side actually believes in or is working towards, and just opted to side with the party on the opposite side of the aisle to your parents?"

"My _parents_ were awful people," Sirius said bitterly.

"So? That doesn't mean anything relevant in relation to politics. Awful people can still believe in good, sound, ideas, just like good people can believe in utter rubbish. You could have someone who is the most outrageous arsehole in all of Britain – everyone hates this guy. Total bastard. This guy believes that all wizarding-born children should be raised by magical guardians, and never by muggles. Does that mean that the idea should instantly be discounted just because this shithead believed in it? No, of course not. The idea has many merits for it and a few valid points that some people have made against it. The issue itself has nothing to do with this hypothetical shithead we've made up. The issue must be debated on its own merits and the effects it will have on the people – not the merits of a specific person who agrees with it. Judging its worth by the sort of people who you know agree with it, is ignorant and lazy."

Sirius had reared back in his seat and was staring at Harry with some level of overwhelmed surprise.

"I guess I might not actually have kept up much on what issues either side is arguing over, but I know a number of good people who are Whigs, and a lot of right arseholes who are Tories. That means something to me," Sirius argued.

"That's a rubbish reason to pick a political side, and only demonstrates your laziness and apathy in regards to public policy. You look at people around you and you say 'that bloke is obviously invested in this politics stuff – he researches it and takes the time and effort to stay up to date on current events. I like that bloke too, so since he obviously knows more about it than I do, I'll just agree with whatever he believes in. Then there is this _other_ bloke who is also obviously invested and has bothered to stay informed and educated on the issues too, but he disagrees with the first bloke. The thing is that I think the second guy is a right arse, so whatever opinion he's formed through his research is probably rubbish.' That's what you're saying. You're too lazy to stay informed and make an opinion of your own, so you're letting other people think for you. And that's fine for some people, if that's the way they want to live their lives, but when you're a person who holds the power, and _responsibility_ of power, then they lose that luxury. It becomes your _duty_ to pay attention. To stay informed.

"The reality is that being 'nice' doesn't make someone intelligent. In fact, it often leads people to be naïve, and make poor choices because they would like to see the best in people. I think that politics is a complex beast, and going all along party lines is also naïve and lazy because nothing is as simple as 'just two sides'. Neither side is ever completely right. Compromise is important too. Over time I have come to agree with a lot of the policies of the Tories because they're more practical, and necessary for protecting our people in a time when our strength as an independent nation will be important to our survival.

"I think that some of the ideals of the Whigs are wonderful pipe dreams that would be great in a perfect world, but this isn't a perfect world, and it's only going to get worse before it gets better. I think that the oldschool-Purebloods need to loosen their desperate hold on some of their more detrimental old traditions that they're currently holding onto simply because they've had so many other things ripped away from them, that they feel the need to protect what few things they have left. Problem is that some of those things are irrational or simply not worth fighting over. What we need to do is restore some of the rights that were taken away, as a number of them are far more important to making us stronger and more flexible.

"Long story short, on a fundamental level, I associate myself with the Tories. When I turn seventeen, my fourteen seats would have officially been designated Tory, no matter what. So, in just over two years, Dumbledore would be losing his position as the Head of the Wizengamot, _anyway_. In fact, it's been my intention to petition for early recognition of my Lordship when I turned 16, so if that had gone through – which it probably would have, given my connections – Dumbledore would be losing his position in just over _one_ year.

"Now, however, I get the boon of having access to my political power even _earlier_. Lucius Malfoy has agreed to place my votes for me – he attends all of the assemblies _anyway_, and now he'll put forth my votes for me, as well as placing votes for the six seats he holds. I'm already politically active, and have been _wanting_ to make use of my political power, but was resolved to waiting. This whole thing with the custody petitions was annoying in it's unexpected nature, but in the end I'm glad it's happened because it's given me this opportunity. Do you have any questions?"

Harry's abrupt ending seemed to jostle Sirius out of what was apparently a rather stunned stupor, as he flinched a bit and sat up straighter. "I – okay, hold on. I see what you're saying, but I really don't think you can trust Malfoy to vote your seats how you want, if he disagrees with you. What are you going to do if you two are split on an issue and he votes his six, and your _fourteen_ the same way, despite what you want?"

"He won't," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

"You can't know that, Harry," Sirius said firmly. "And – you know, all this politics stuff; I don't even care. That's what Dumbledore's worried about, not me. I'm worried about the fact that you're letting yourself get adopted by a bloody _Death Eater!_ I mean, you don't honestly believe that rubbish about him being under Imperious back during the war, do you?"

"No," Harry replied blandly and Sirius blinked in apparent surprise.

"_No?_ You mean... you know he's a Death Eater and you _don't care?_ Do you think he won't try something? Because you can't know that Harry. Dumbledore is convinced that You-Know-Who is really back. Maybe he's laying low or building up secret forces or something, but at some point, he's going to call his old followers to him and Lucius Malfoy is going to be one of them. You can't know that Malfoy won't just hand you over to his old master! You could be killed, Harry! It isn't safe there!"

Harry heaved a slightly exasperated sigh. Honestly, he wasn't really in the mood for this today, and the room was actually a bit chilly and he found that annoying.

"Tell me something – why are you still even _speaking_ to Albus Dumbledore?" Harry asked calmly.

Sirius's brow puckered with confusion. "What? Why wouldn't I?"

"Because he left you to rot in Azkaban for over a decade, knowing full well that you never got a trial, and never once did a thing about it. He never even visited you, did he? Never even went to ask you 'why' you betrayed James and Lily – or try to interrogate you for names of other Death Eaters, or anything else that a person would ask of someone they believed had been a spy. Why do you suppose he never once came to see you? Never once visited you, and convinced others – _like Lupin_ – not to visit you, either? He blocked your mail – did you know that? As an inmate of Azkaban, you're still supposed to get your mail once a month, and a visit with your solicitor, once a year, but because of how you were incarcerated, you were lost in the system. But the mail was still collected – _and there was mail_ – it was Dumbledore that ordered it destroyed."

Sirius blanched and shook his head in denial. "What? No – what makes you think something like that? How could you even _know_ something like that?"

"I know it. You could look it up too - the records still exist."

"But that's ridiculous! Why would he do that?" Sirius asked, incredulously.

"Because he knew you didn't do it," Harry said in a calm, yet firm tone.

"What! That's – that's rubbish! If he'd known, he –"

"No. It's true. You being spirited away to Azkaban under martial law, gave him the ability to submit an emergency petition for my proxy guardianship and get it pushed through without opposition and before my parents will was even read. Through that he gained the right to determine where I was placed without interference from the Ministry, and look how he bungled that? But after he lost me, he kept it hidden from the Ministry, rather than ask for their help in finding me, because he knew that he'd lose his proxy status, if the Ministry found out about how he'd lost me. He was so sure that if he just kept looking, he'd find me and be able to cover up his blunder – but he couldn't find me," Harry said with a smug smirk and sat back in his chair again, crossing one leg over the other, casually.

"Even after years of failed attempts, he continued to keep his blunder hidden, and after he finally was able to find me the summer before my first year, he bent to my will for fear of losing track of me again. He conceded to the whims of a child, in order to keep his mistakes hidden from the public and the Ministry. He allowed _a child_ to continue living, with no apparent supervision, for multiple summers, rather than bring the authorities into the matter, to try and force me to bend to the will of the state. All, to cover his mistakes. I'm hardly the only mistake he's desperately trying to cover up and make up for, either. The whole war against Voldemort is just an attempt to make up for his mistakes when Tom Riddle was a boy and a student at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore's defeat of Grindlewald was just his way of covering up what he sees as his _biggest_ mistake. That was no noble quest to save wizarding Britain from a mad, evil, wizard, intent on bringing his war from the continent to Britain. Rather, it was merely the desperate actions of a man who was afraid of his awful past coming back to haunt him, and his bad deeds being revealed to the public. Did you know that Albus Dumbledore was once lovers with Gellert Grindlewald? Did you know that Dumbledore accidentally killed his own sister when defending Grindlewald from Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth? Not exactly the glowing actions of a hero, hmm?"

"What!" Sirius spluttered with an incredulous laugh. "You can't be serious!"

"The man is no saint, Sirius Black," Harry said in a firm tone. "He is not the glorious beacon of the light you all make him out to be. He is a political player; a manipulator; and an idealistic _fool_. He has his fingers buried too deeply in too many things. He's gained too much power and control over the years, and it's given him a fat head. He believes it's his job to _guide_ us all down the proper path, and save people from the same mistakes he's made in the past – and he's made _so many of them, _so surely that experience must be worth _something_ – but who is _he_ to determine what path is proper?

"He's hardly the best judge. Even now, with this supposed return of Voldemort, Dumbledore puts all of his hopes and plans on the shoulders of a single child who was supposedly prophesied to defeat the monster, before said child was even born. And who was this supposed Seer, anyway? Are you aware that it was Sybil Trelawney that spoke the words that doomed me and my parents? Do you know when she made her great and omniscient prophecy? During a job interview. _A job interview_ that she was clearly failing to impress, during.

"He wants me to be the poster child for his crusade to cover up his mistakes once again. He's no less sneaky and double-handed than the worst Slytherin you despise so deeply. Is he really the sort of man that you want to do your thinking for you, Sirius Black? Are you sure that following along with his political plans, and blindly tossing your hat, _and your votes_, in with him, is the best idea?"

"Whoa – wait. Hold on there Harry – too much at once. I... I don't even know where to start," Sirius said, holding his hands up, almost desperately. "You honestly believe that Dumbledore let me rot in Azkaban, so he could gain custody of you, and left me there, so that no one would start asking where you were and find out he'd screwed up?"

"Yes," Harry said simply, folding his arms over his chest.

"And – did you seriously say that Dumbledore was Grindlewald's _lover?"_" Sirius asked, incredulously.

"He was," Harry nodded. "Ask Aberforth. Ask Bathilda Bagshot."

"Bathilda-who? That name sounds familiar."

"She's the author of 'A History of Magic', as well as about a half-dozen other books. She's the oldest living witch in Britain at the moment, and she's Gellert Grindlewald's great-aunt. She also lived in Godric's Hallow when Dumbledore and his family moved there when Dumbledore was a boy. She knows all about Gellert, Albus, and Aberforth's fight. She even attended Ariana's funeral and witnessed Aberforth punch Albus so hard, he was nearly knocked out, for having dared come to the funeral when Aberforth so rightfully blamed Albus for their little sister's death."

"I've never heard anything like this before," Sirius said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Of course not. Dumbledore has worked long and heard to keep it all under wraps. After Ariana's death, Grindlewald fled Britain and returned to the continent where he would later gain power and wage a war that he and Albus had planned together in their ambitious youth. Of course, by this time Albus was dreadfully ashamed of his participation in any of those plans and only wished desperately that no one would ever _find out the truth_. So when Grindlewald first threatened to return to Britain and bring his war with him, Dumbledore had no choice but to confront the man or risk exposure.

"_That_ is why Dumbledore challenged Grindlewald to their famous duel – and also why Grindlewald accepted it. It was the least he owed his old lover, since he had played a pivotal role in the death of Ariana. Dumbledore didn't do it to be the hero or save Britain, or put an end to an evil Dark Wizard; he did it to_ cover his own arse_," Harry said in a slow drawl.

"How... how could you know all this? How could you know about me being innocent, and where to find Wormtail, or know who Remus was when you sat next to him in the train to school before your third year – he told me about that. That you seemed to know who he was, without any explanation as to why or how. And he overheard you talking to Draco Malfoy in the halls once – you _knew_ things. Things that you couldn't possibly know, but you did. And this stuff you know about Dumbledore – it just doesn't make sense. I just don't get it!" Sirius exclaimed in frustration.

Harry leaned back in his seat and cocked his head to the side, speculatively, debating what angle to take. A small grin curled the corner of his lip as an idea crawled its way into his mind and he had to stifle the urge to laugh. The idea certainly wasn't one he had ever planned to make use of in this life, but now that it had popped into his mind, he couldn't help but find the prospect of stirring the pot up even more, to have great potential for entertainment. _Oh the confusion and conflict it would generate among Dumbledore and his people when it reached them... _It was just too delicious an idea, not to explore, even though he knew he really ought not to do it without more thought to the possible repercussions. But to hell with the consequences. It would be entertaining, and maybe he really should put more focus on what was enjoyable and not just what was a 'good idea'.

"Do you really want to know?" Harry asked, blanking his expression.

Sirius looked wary for a moment before he sat forward and gave Harry a determined nod of his head. "I do."

"Sybil Trelawney isn't a real Seer. She's a hack. Anyone who knows her, can tell you that," Harry said and Sirius frowned in apparent confusion.

"Okay..." Sirius replied slowly.

"I'm not."

"You're not, what?"

"A hack," Harry said, as a smug smirk curled his lip again. "I'm the real deal. I have visions – have had them for as long as I can remember. Visions of the past. Visions of the present. Visions of the future."

Sirius' jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"No, I believe that _you're_ Sirius."

Sirius deadpanned. "Did you really just say that?"

Harry ducked his head because he couldn't stop the ridiculous grin that had spread across his lips. "Sorry – yeah, that was stupid. I couldn't resist. Anyway," he raised his head back up, managing to clear his face of humor, "I really am being serious. I know the things that I know because of visions that I've had."

"Then you can't _really_ be sure that you're right! All that stuff about Dumbledore and Grindlewald could just be a figment of your – your _imagination_!" Sirius argued.

Harry tilted his head back and twisted up his mouth for a moment. "Okay, I'll humor you. How about we call Aberforth in here and get him to confirm or deny it?"

Sirius blanched for a moment before morphing his face into an expression of determination. "Alright, fine," he said with a nod of his head as he pulled his wand out and pointed it at what looked like a wall sconce, mounted next to the door. The light within it glowed red and Harry knew that a corresponding light downstairs behind the bar had just lit up as well, to alert the pub owner that they needed something.

Harry leaned back in his chair, casually, and examined his finger nails as they waited in silence.

"You really have _visions_?" Sirius finally asked, breaking the heavy quiet that had filled the room.

"Mmmhmm," Harry hummed in a bored tone. He felt the shift in the magic beyond them and turned to look over his shoulder at the door, just as a light knock came from it, alerting them to the presence of the bartender.

Aberforth Dumbledore pushed the door open enough to poke his head inside. "You needed something, sirs?" he asked in a gruff tone.

Harry turned more fully and gave the man a welcoming smile that didn't really reach his eyes. "Yes, but I'm afraid its of a rather unusual nature. Could you perhaps come in and have a seat?"

Aberforth looked rather dubious, but he gave them a small nod and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He hesitated as he reached for one of the empty chairs around the round table, but finally pulled it out and sat down, eyeing the two of them cautiously.

"What's this about, then?" he asked.

"Mr. Black here is doubtful of some information I supplied him with, and it occurred to me that _you_, Mr. Dumbledore, actually possess the knowledge necessary to confirm or deny what it is that I have told him."

Aberforth frowned. "I don't know about that, but I suppose you can try me."

"Is it not true that the summer after his graduation from Hogwarts, your brother, Albus, met and grew quite _close_, to one Gellert Grindlewald?" Harry posed in a calm tone.

Aberforth's eyes widened almost comically and his lips parted in shock for a moment before he pressed them back together, into a firm line and he gave a curt nod in return. "It's true. I don't know where you heard it... but it's true."

Sirius went a bit pale and his face slackened.

"Is it also true that Albus spent that whole summer gallivanting off with Gellert, making all sorts of wild plans, when he _should_ have been taking care of your sick sister, Ariana. Leaving _you_, to tend to her instead?"

"How... how do you know that?" Aberforth said, shaking his head slightly with apparent disbelief.

"Is it true?" Harry pressed.

Aberforth's mouth worked, wordlessly for a moment before he swallowed and nodded. "It's true," he said, and a mild scowl marred his features.

Harry gave a slight nod of his own head and gave the man a sympathetic sort of look as he pressed on. "You were still school-age and had to go back to Hogwarts in the fall. Your mother had died just before Albus graduated, leaving the three Dumbledore children with no one to look after them, except the eldest – Albus – who shirked his responsibilities due to his infatuation with the pretty golden-haired German boy. But as fall approached, you confronted him and his _friend_, and demanded that he accept his responsibilities. You demanded that he start looking after Ariana, because you had to go back to school and couldn't do it anymore.

"That's when the fight broke out," Harry said in a soft voice after a brief pause. Aberforth's eyes were unfocused and his face was lined deeply with age and what Harry suspected was regret.

"Yes," Aberforth whispered.

"And Ariana was killed," Harry said, still speaking in a gentle, near-whisper.

Aberforth closed his eyes tightly and Harry saw his Adam's apple bob in his wrinkled throat several times before the old man nodded his head again.

"And Gellert fled."

"Yes," Aberforth said and anger had reached his voice now.

Silence filled the room for several long beats after that, and Harry let it stretch so that Aberforth had a chance to pull himself together.

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," Harry said, finally. "That was all."

The man looked up, appearing both startled and confused. "But... but how? How do you know?"

"Bathilda Bagshot," Harry said as a simple explanation.

Aberforth looked skeptical for a moment before he nodded his head. "Amazing the old bat is still alive..."

"Yes. Quite."

Aberforth fumbled for a moment before standing from his seat and looking around a bit awkwardly. "Er... is that all, then?"

"Yes. Thank you," Harry said.

Aberforth ambled out of the room, glancing back several times, at Harry with caution in his face, before he finally vanished beyond the door, closing it behind him. The thunk of the door, coming to rest in the frame echoed through the otherwise silent room and Harry let it hang there until Sirius spoke.

"You really saw all that in a vision? Or did Bathilda Bagshot really tell you?"

"I've never even spoken with Bathilda Bagshot – written or otherwise. We've never met." Harry replied blandly.

"So you saw it in a vision?" Sirius asked, sounding rather incredulous.

"Yes," Harry said with a simple one-shoulder shrug.

"I never heard of any of the Potters having any affinity for divination," Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "Lily didn't even take the class – she thought it was mostly rubbish."

"I'm not taking the class either," Harry pointed out with a one-shouldered shrug. "At Hogwarts it really _is_ rubbish; especially now with that hack, Trelawney, teaching it. Besides, the Sight isn't something that can be taught."

"You said that you've seen things from the past, present, and future – does that mean you've seen whether or not You-Know-Who really is back?"

Harry heaved something of an exasperated sigh as if he were especially put out to even be asked this.

"I've seen it. He's not what we need to be worrying about, though. Dumbledore is totally wasting his time and effort searching for Voldemort and preparing for Death Eater attacks that will never come. There _is_ a threat on the horizon, but Dumbledore is blind to it, and will remain blind to it for a long time to come. His chosen path would lead us all to ruin, and the destruction of wizarding Britain as we know it – despite his _best intentions_. He's a fool, and the more support he has in the coming years, the harder we will fall when things finally come to a head. We won't be prepared. He would have us handle it through diplomacy, one concession after another, and 'peace' treaties that only strip us of more and more of our rights as more time passes. Our enemy will perceive us as weak and easily dominated, and they will utterly _crush us_."

Sirius blanched back, gripping the table and gaping at Harry in apparent horror. "Wha... _who?_ If not You-Know-Who – who is this enemy that's going to destroy us?"

Harry tilted his head to the side as if examining Sirius for a moment before he spoke. "The muggles. They're going to find us, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. Not just us – but the exposure will happen all across the whole world. Our present wards won't be able to hide us from them for much longer. Their technology will reach a point where we are unable to fool it, and them. And when they find us... it will be the beginning of the end for all magical beings."

"W-when? When will this happen?" Sirius asked hoarsely.

"Anywhere between the years 2006 and 2008 depending on a number of factors. But I don't believe there is any way to push it back any further than that. It's inevitable," Harry said with a cold, shrug.

"Then, what do we do?" Sirius asked, sitting up more straight and looking both desperate and determined. "If there's no way to stop them finding us – what do we do? Why do you even care about all this political rubbish, if we're doomed anyway?"

"I don't believe that we're doomed," Harry said in a contemplative tone. "I really do believe that we have a shot of protecting ourselves, if we handle it properly. Some other magical communities, in other countries, manage to protect themselves from the more devastating fates that fall upon others –_ like us_. I think there's a chance we can do the same, as long as we're willing to approach the problem properly. And _that_ is why I care about all this 'political rubbish'.

"We need to shift our goals and start working towards strengthening our people and our defenses in preparation for whats coming. As things stand now, we are so utterly unprepared, it's disgusting. Our government policy has to change if we are going to properly position ourselves to surviving the coming struggle. I can help make the changes that need to be made, if I start working sooner than later. That is why I want to begin making use of my fourteen seats on the Wizengamot as soon as possible. That is why I refuse to allow Dumbledore to have any influence over my votes. He would only set us back further with his agendas and methods. He's a misguided fool chasing a pipe dream of redemption."

"And you think that _you_ know how to do it better than he would?" Sirius said with a slight challenge to his tone.

"I've seen it. Not just one outcome, but many possible outcomes, and the paths that lead to each one. I've seen what happens to our world when everything Albus Dumbledore wants, happens. It was the worst one of all."

"Well then, why don't you _tell him!_ Tell _him_ this stuff about your visions. Why not try working _with him_, to make sure he doesn't make these mistakes you say he'll make?"

"It would be a waste of my time," Harry drawled in a bored tone.

"But wouldn't that make what you're hoping to do, easier, if you just spoke to him? If you and he were both working towards the same goals, instead of you fighting against him? If you just explain to him _why_, surely he'll –"

"He won't," Harry interrupted, abruptly. "We'll have to resort to violence to survive. We'll have to make the muggles fear and respect our power. We'll have to demonstrate to them that if they try to hurt us, we _will_ hurt them, and we have to actually back that up with actual action. If we do it peacefully, we _will_ lose. But he will never agree to violence against muggles. He'll be determined to find a way to survive without having to resort to it, but there is no way."

"How can you be so sure?" Sirius asked in an almost whisper.

"I just am."

Sirius heaved a defeated sigh and sank back into his chair. He looked down at the surface of the table with his brow puckered together in deep thought for several long moments after that and Harry just let him think.

"What about You-Know-Who?" Sirius asked, finally.

"What about him?"

"Is he back?"

"Yes."

Sirius' eyes widened and he seemed to take a moment to process that before he pressed on. "Well, what's he going to do, in all this? If he stirs up another war, won't that weaken us further, and make us more vulnerable when the muggles find us?"

Harry tilted his head to the side in thought for a moment while humming lightly. "Nnn...no. He's an unknown variable. He has the potential to drastically shift the balance of things."

"Well isn't that a _bad_ thing? Shouldn't we deal with him quickly, first, so that we don't have to worry about him?" Sirius asked, insistently.

"No. That would be a bad idea."

"What? Why?"

"He might have the strength to save us," Harry said with a simple shrug. "He's not crazy anymore – the magic that had destroyed his sanity has been undone. It's why he's been back for two years and yet hasn't regrouped the Death Eaters and started up any strikes or raids. The wizarding war of the 1970's won't be making a return. There won't _be_ another wizarding war – the next war will be with the muggles. And there's a chance that if Voldemort is at the lead of our side of that war – we might win it."

Sirius gaped at him.

"You... you would side with the man that killed your parents?" Sirius whispered, his face going hard and his jaw clenching.

"I would side with whomever has the chance of saving the most witches and wizards from death and suffering. I don't really remember my parents. Not really. But I quite clearly remember every vision I've seen from the war. The families ripped apart – people killed, captured, experimented on, _dissected_. Kidnapped and held hostage; forced to perform 'miracles' for people. Expected to solve all the muggles problems, and then killed for not being able to do it. Exalted as wonders by some and then scorned later – despised by many from the beginning. I've seen our communities raided; bombed; destroyed. Magicals held prisoner, sold as slaves, and raped. Families hunted down and torn apart. People going into hiding – giving up magic and living their lives as muggles; forever living in fear that someone would find out what they really were. Terrified of sending their children to schools for fear that they'd perform some feat of accidental magic and expose themselves as magical.

"I've seen _that._ I _know that_. That is a reality I've faced, and that is far more important than any petty revenge against a man who killed two people I barely remember, during a time when he was so corrupted by dark magic that he'd completely lost his mind. I am not so selfish that I would throw away the world because of a personal grudge against the one man who has a decent chance of saving us."

Sirius reared back in his own seat as if he'd been slapped. He gaped at Harry with a mixture of horror and shock on his face. Slowly, he closed his gaping mouth and his brow furrowed deeply with thought and fear.

"That... that sounds awful. You – you see all that? In these visions you have?" Sirius whispered.

"Yes," Harry said in a clipped tone and looking away slightly as he tried to push back the storm of emotions attached to some of those memories that he usually kept firmly locked away. He preferred to keep himself as detached from those memories and emotions as humanly possible, but of course, it wasn't always possible. It was a part of who he was and had played a pivotal role in a number of his lives – the ones where he'd lived long enough to start seeing things fall apart. Of course he was making it out to be a bit worse than it actually was to make a bigger impact. Harry's family and friends had all managed to survive for the most part. It had been hard, and many of them had sacrificed a lot, but they'd done it. But he'd seen many people – _many_ people – caught up in the violence and the suffering.

Perhaps he was giving Sirius the impression that things were more active, constant, and violent than they had actually become – it wasn't like it was a constant, on-going war, with battlefields and winners and losers, but it was still terrible, and things only got worse the longer it went on. In many countries – Britain being one of them – Magicals had become second-class citizens and were forced to integrate with the muggles but also 'register' as magicals so they could be tracked and observed. Their previously protected, private magical spots, were taken from them, and such hidden spots were eventually deemed illegal so the muggle government could make sure they weren't doing anything _dangerous_ in secret. Crimes committed by muggles against magicals often went unpunished. A black market sprung up where witches and wizarding children were bought and sold like cattle, and even though some muggles were outraged and spoke out against it, far too many turned a blind eye.

It _was_ awful. If anyone thought that the Magical Ministry as it currently stood was corrupt and taking away their rights and traditions, they had no appreciation for just how bad it would eventually get after the muggle government dissolved the Magical Ministry completely, and instigated their own rule over Magical Britain's populace.

Harry had no qualms with over-emphasizing how immediate the problem might be to Sirius, especially since chances were that Dumbledore would convince Sirius to share a memory of this conversation with him. Harry _definitely_ had no qualms with exaggerating the seriousness of the situation if it meant he might get some of it to sink through Albus Dumbledore's stubbornly thick skull.

Sirius let out a long, low groan and let his head fall back so his face was directed at the ceiling. "This is just... all too much. I don't even know what to take away from all this. Dumbledore wanted me to, at a bare minimum, come here and convince you not to let Malfoy use your votes – _I _came here hoping to convince you that going with Malfoy _at all_ was suicidal... all this – I wasn't prepared for all this."

"I'll be fine with the Malfoys," Harry said firmly.

Sirius moved his head forward so he was once again looking at Harry, and there was a speculative expression gracing his face. "Do you know that because of your visions?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said with firm certainty, because it was just easier to reassure the man this way. He knew that Sirius would always have his doubts and his concerns, but at least this was an excuse the man could rationalize.

Sirius let out a long, heavy sigh and slumped forward in his seat. "You shouldn't be doing all this stuff with people like _them_. If you're... I don't know – working towards _saving_ the wizarding world, you should let _us_ help you. Not people like the Malfoys or, bloody hell – being willing to support _You-Know-Who_. That's just crazy!"

"We're not the badguys, Sirius," Harry said in a gentle tone.

Sirius blanched slightly before frowning at Harry. "I never said you were, Harry – you're... well, you're James and Lily's son. You're my Godson, whether you want to be or not. I screwed up, but I'm here now and I want to be here for you. James and Lily trusted me to look out for you, and I can only imagine what they'd think if they knew I let you run off with people like the _Malfoys_. I –"

"They're not the bad guys _either_," Harry said firmly.

Sirius faltered and his brow puckered with the conflict that obviously waged behind his eyes.

"Harry... they're not good people. They –"

"When was the last time you spoke to Narcissa?" Harry asked, cutting him off. "For that matter – have you _ever_ had a civil conversation with Lucius where you weren't intentionally trying to provoke him into a fight? Have you ever attempted to overcome your preconceived dislike for all things Slytherin and pureblooded, and actually get to _know_ one of them on a more tolerant position? Lucius is a very ambitious man. He's willing to do things that many other people would consider immoral, or at the very least, questionable, in order to achieve his goals, but his goals aren't really all that different than most people. At the most fundamental level, his family is and always will be his greatest priority. He's not a _bad man_. I will not deny that he has done some _bad things_. But most of the legitimately violent stuff was committed when he was much younger, and stupid. I won't make excuses for him, but I will argue that he's not as _evil_ as you would like to paint him."

Sirius growled in frustration and shook his head. "It doesn't change anything. You shouldn't be _with them_. You should be _with us!"_

"That's one of your problems – one of _all_ of our problems, honestly. This mentality that it's 'us' against 'them'. It's our internal divisions and the conflicts that arise from those, that will give us the most trouble. We must stand united. Not just the purebloods, halfbloods, and muggleborn – not just the Gryffindors and the Slytherins – but _all_ magicals. The human wizards and the goblins, and the centaurs – all of us will have to band together if we have any hope of standing up to the muggles and protecting our right to life. We may have magic, but they have the numbers. They out-number us to a monumental degree.

"When you can learn to think of the 'Dark Wizards' as allies and equals – then we can talk. Because – honestly? You say 'they' and you're thinking of Voldemort, and Lucius Malfoy, and Severus Snape, and Death Eaters in Azkaban. You're thinking of _Slytherins_, and Purebloods like your parents and cousins, and all the kids at school you played pranks on because you thought they _deserved it_ for being the children of your parents' society friends – but your 'they' already includes _me_. I'm _already_ _with them_, Sirius. So if it's got to be 'us' against 'them', then that also means that it's 'you' against 'me'. As it stands – we're already on opposite sides. It's just that these sides don't mean anything. At least – they won't in the end. They're just a distraction."

Their meeting didn't last much longer after that. It was clear to Harry that Sirius was less than thrilled with the outcome of their meeting, and definitely less than thrilled to have no choice but to cut it off when they did. But Harry used the excuse that he didn't want to waste his entire Hogsmeade trip on this one meeting, and managed to convince the man to leave him be.

Harry wondered how long it would take before Sirius spilled the entire contents of the meeting to Dumbledore. No doubt the man would be conflicted over it, but Harry knew that, in the end, Sirius _would_ tell Dumbledore.

Harry had suggested that he didn't think he could trust Sirius to keep his words private – which would be the primary source of doubt in the wizard – and Harry had also planted a few seeds of doubt in Dumbledore's spotless reputation that would only fester and grow the more Sirius let himself think about them. Despite all that, Harry knew that Sirius would still end up telling Dumbledore what Harry had told him today. At least, most of it, anyway. Sirius would probably still think that, if Dumbledore knew Harry's reasons for choosing the path he'd chosen, that Dumbledore would understand and want to _help_ – not hinder. Harry knew differently, but he still _wanted_ Dumbledore to know – even if only to make him falter and start second-guessing himself.

And he _would_ second-guess himself after this.

Harry grinned smugly to himself as he made his way back to the castle, wishing he could be a fly on the wall whenever Dumbledore finally got a report from Sirius on their meeting.

– –

AN: Marvolo will be making a return for the next chapter. Sorry there's been a Dark Lord deficit in the last few chapters. Many of you have noted you miss him. Heh.

– –

AN edit -

Had a couple questions on the whole Whigs v Tories thing and thought I'd throw this out to clarify.

The Whigs and the Tories were the two primary political parties in Britain from 1678 until the early-mid 1800's. The Tory party eventually turned into the Conservative Party while the Whigs were succeeded by the Liberal Party.

I figured I'd borrow the old terms for use here. Slightly unrelated but also slightly related bit of trivia – the Wizengamot that Rowling created was named after the Witenagemot – meaning Meeting of Wise Men, that existed from around the 7th century until the 11th century in Anglo-Saxon England.

Ah, wikipedia – how you have expanded my base of mostly useless archaic knowledge.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: When I started writing this fic, I compiled this huge list of quotes that I wanted to put at the chapter breaks, but then promptly neglected to do so.

I was reminded of the quotes because someone actually commented in a review that Harry is very Machiavellian in this story – which was awesome, cuz every one of the quotes, is in fact, from Niccolo Machiavelli – lol. So yeah – that was kind of intentional. Thanks for noticing! And for reminding me that at some point in time, I had something of a plan for those quotes.

I've recently gone back and inserted them into various places throughout the story that I felt were appropriate. They are not necessary for the story in any way, shape, or form, so I'm not saying that people should go back and reread all the chapters just because I inserted quotes in between each scene, I'm just letting you know that I did.

– –

_In judging policies we should consider the results that have been achieved through them rather than the means by which they have been executed._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The Dark Lord Voldemort.

Marcus Aurelius Verus.

He felt rather distinctly detached from all of those names, if he were being honest with himself. He hadn't had trouble associating himself – rather proudly – with the title of Dark Lord Voldemort for a great many years, but that time had past, and now he felt a rather startling distaste for that moniker. He would never _admit_ that to anyone, of course. And he still _went_ by that name among the select followers whom he had gathered to assist in his current machinations, but they never actually _said the name_, so it was hardly that substantial a deal. He was still fine with _Dark Lord_, but Voldemort had been the product of his youthful arrogance - the same arrogance that had led to his creation of horcruxes, and the eventual total deterioration of him sanity, self-restraint, and reasonable caution.

Shame and guilt were not a emotions he enjoyed, and were ones that he absolutely refused to confess to experiencing – but he _did_ experience both. He even got maudlin from time to time, as he felt himself approaching this particular evening.

Despite the disgust he now held with himself over the mistakes he had made while primarily using the title of Voldemort, he still hated the name _Tom _considerably more. He didn't give a damn how logical Harry's argument was that he was just being childish, he still _hated_ the name Tom.

But... he _was _growing surprisingly accustomed to _Marvolo_.

He'd never actively used his middle name to address himself before. It felt like using it was something of a clean slate, and yet it was also an acknowledgment of who he once was, and where he came from, rather than hiding it as if he were ashamed.

No one would really understand that, of course. No one, except Harry. But Harry understood more about him than anyone else ever had. It was something that had deeply unsettled him in the beginning. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed. The notion that this stranger knew so much about him – his past, his heritage, his _weaknesses_ – it was terrifying.

And yet somewhere along the way, Marvolo had found himself feeling as if he could actually _trust_ Harry Potter with this powerful knowledge. This notion terrified him as well. Trust was a weakness – when you trusted someone to hold as much sensitive information as Harry held, you give that person the power to destroy you. And yet, he somehow felt strangely safe in the knowledge that Harry wouldn't abuse that power.

Which was stupid. He shouldn't feel _safe_ around Harry at all, considering that the man had been personally responsible for the deaths of numerous of Marvolo's own alternate-reality counterparts.

Harry had the power to destroy him – he had, in fact, exercised that power in the past, _repeatedly_. Why he trusted that Harry wouldn't do it again was utterly beyond his comprehension.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn't, but there was an emotional inclination towards that trust, and, despite his better judgment, he had been trying to train himself not to run away from his emotional instincts as he consistently had in his youth. Spending time _connected_ with Harry was helping him adjust to these emotions he'd been re-introduced to after so many decades detached from them, and he was slowing coming to terms with the fact that he _enjoyed_ being able to _feel_, when he wasn't fighting so hard to push them away. The thing he had once had so much trouble understanding, and that he had so firmly determined was nothing more than an irrational weakness – he was now beginning to understand and enjoyed being able to feel some minute semblance of _normal_, if for no other reason than he felt like he could make sense of other peoples motivations, where he was once utterly baffled by them.

And he enjoyed Harry.

He enjoyed Harry's snark and his wit. He even enjoyed it when the damned bastard teased him. He'd never had anyone who felt comfortable enough around him to _tease_ him before. Not in a positive way, at least. He'd been cruelly teased and taunted his whole childhood until he'd taught his 'peers' that there were repercussions to such actions. But then he'd left the orphanage, gone to Hogwarts, and been taunted about being a dirt-poor orphan, and because of his assumed status as a muggleborn, for the first year he'd been in Slytherin House. Of course, that '_teasing_' had been undeniably malicious in nature, and he had taken his revenge upon those people many years ago.

Harry's teasing was of a positive, _friendly_, nature. It was playful banter; it was gentle ribbing. It was... well – _flirting_, if he was being completely honest. Harry definitely flirted with him, although he almost wondered if Harry really considered it that, or if maybe that was just the way Harry was with everyone. The more time that passed, the more strongly that prospect annoyed him.

Harry was something of an enigma to Marvolo – even when they were emotionally connected through an opened link, Marvolo often found himself confounded by the complexity of Harry's mind and his emotions.

It was a challenge that Marvolo relished.

Harry was a puzzle, and a particularly fascinating one, at that. Marvolo had spent more nights than he really thought he ought to, pouring over his books and developing his own theories on what could possibly have led to Harry's current predicament with the repeating lives. He'd questioned Harry quite a lot on the details over the last year, and Harry, being the sort that seemed over-eager to share _every little detail_ with Marvolo for some unfathomable reason, had answered every one of his questions in obscene detail. Harry thought it was just Marvolo's own endless curiosity that inspired the questions – and really, _that was true_. Marvolo hadn't really given Harry any reason to believe that he was researching Harry's problem or making any attempts to find a solution to it. And until he actually thought he had a chance of being successful, he didn't intend to change Harry's perception on the matter.

As far as Harry was concerned, Marvolo's questions were merely a matter of curiosity and the only project the two legitimately shared, was the political maneuvering they were jointly partaking in, and Marvolo's contribution as an editor on Harry's publications. Harry had no idea Marvolo had this little side-project going on, and Marvolo intended to keep it that way.

Through the course of his efforts, Marvolo had actually come to the theorized conclusion that every one of Harry's lives had continued to exist on without him, even after he had died. He didn't think that Harry was time-traveling within the same reality and resetting it over and over, so much as he was rebooting himself alone, _for some unknown reason_, and forming new realities each time he was born. Every life Harry lived, was a whole new alternate reality, spawned from the same moment in time; forking off in a new direction.

That was what his research had led him to theorize, anyway. He had not yet found a way to confirm or deny this theory, nor did it actually help in any way with Harry's ultimate goal of stopping the repeating process.

But it was fascinating. It was a puzzle that he liked to mull over when he needed a break from all the tedium of political maneuvering.

And fundamentally... it was something that perhaps Marvolo could do _for Harry._

Because he hated owing things to people, and no matter what he liked to pretend, he honestly did feel like he owed a great deal to Harry. _This_ Harry had saved him from a fate worse than death, even though in previous iterations, he'd been the cause of that death.

And perhaps... perhaps if Harry believed that this life would be his last, he wouldn't be in such a hurry to leave it behind. But then again, he might just kill himself immediately to test the theory, if he thought he'd found a solution.

Marvolo had to admit that he really didn't know which was more likely to happen, which bothered him for some reason. Part of him felt as if he should understand Harry Potter better than anyone else – and he probably _did_ understand him better than anyone else living now, or ever, aside from Harry himself. And yet he still didn't know him well enough to know how Harry would react if he were suddenly guaranteed that the next time he died would be the last time.

Perhaps it really shouldn't matter.

These were the thoughts on his mind this particular Saturday evening as he sat in the personal office he had established in the manor home he had inhabited for the last year and a half. He wasn't sitting behind his desk at this moment, however. Instead, he was situated on a chase lounge he had placed before the large hearth, and was sipping from a glass of red wine that he then placed on a low wooden end table to the side of the lounge. He brought his arm up – elbow rested on the side of the chase and fist up supporting his chin as he let his eyes fall unfocused on the yellow and red flames, flickering in the large stone fireplace.

Harry had begun to occupy his thoughts more and more, as more time passed. He let his eyes drift away from the flames and over to the low end table where his wine glass rested. Beside the fine crystal flute lay a simple, nondescript, leather-bound book. The book was already quite worn – surprisingly so considering it was relatively new.

But he supposed it would make sense for the leather to be worn along the edges and the binding to be flattened out so fully, considering how he had long ago taken to carrying the book with him most places. Far earlier than he suspected Harry realized. The very summer after Harry had restored that first bit of his soul, he had taken up the habit of keeping the book with him.

The book, in fact, rarely left his person. He'd put a spell on it, even, to make sure if he left a room without it, he would instantly know. It was just one of many precautions that he'd placed on it to guarantee the desperately sensitive secrets that lay within it, remained secret. Some of the other protections included spells to prevent anyone beside himself from even _opening_ the book, and curses that would react to any magical attempts to circumvent the initial spells. But perhaps the most guaranteed protection was the simple fact that both he and Harry always wrote in the thing _in parselscript._ It almost made the other protections pointless, but he was nothing, if not thorough.

The book, in question, was of course, the protean-charmed book that Harry had given him two springs ago, and taken to writing in almost constantly, since then. Marvolo was grateful that one of the charms Harry had seen fit to place on the book before linking the pair together, was an endless-page charm, because if he hadn't, the book would have been filled from cover-to-cover long ago.

Marvolo's hand left his chin and he reached out to pick the book up. He shifted in his seat so he was lounging more gracefully and held the book before him with one hand while gently caressing the softly worn surface with the other. He wondered what it said about him that the book had somehow come to hold a sentimental value to him. The book was connected to Harry's book the way that Marvolo was connected to Harry himself. The connection was dormant except for when it was _opened_ – just like the connection they shared.

Except that it didn't feel nearly as dormant recently as it once had. Perhaps it was because they were opening the connection more often these days, or perhaps neither one of them felt especially inclined to keep it firmly closed as they once did. But more and more of Harry's emotions tended to leak through these days, and he rather suspected that Harry experienced much the same thing with his own feelings. They were just echos of another presence, in the back of his mind, but it was an ever-present echo. He imagined that if that echo were to disappear now, he'd feel quite lonely. Not that Marvolo Riddle ever felt _lonely._ Such an idea was preposterous, and he would curse anyone who would suggest such a thing – unless that someone were Harry. Then he'd probably just sneer at him.

_Merlin_, he really was going soft. He needed someone to kill – or at least maim. Maybe he'd go after that Marrick Conners moron who'd been giving them such trouble recently with the idiotic legislature he was sponsoring. He and his five seats – ambitious, stupid, pandering fool.

Harry's suggestion of landing the man in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's to hold his votes in limbo, had merit, and Marvolo honestly wouldn't trust any of his servants to handle it properly. Maybe it would serve as a good distraction.

A smirk spread it's way across his thin sharp lips as ideas began to dance through his mind when suddenly, a faint glow from the corner of his vision drew his attention. He looked down to see that the book was pulsing gently with light, indicating that Harry had just written in his copy. Their next meeting wasn't scheduled until the following night, so it was probably just some more rambling from Harry, or possibly some idea or another. It was hardly uncommon for Harry to write in the book for no apparent reason, and when this happened, Marvolo usually read it whenever he had some free time. Whether or not he would bother to write a reply would depend entirely upon whatever it was Harry had written.

He considered just putting the book into his robe pocket and attending, instead, to his plans for Merrick Conners, but found himself opening the book despite himself. He had charmed the book to always open to the most recent page first, and if he were looking for something old, he could flip back manually from there. His eyes traveled across the mostly blank page and fell upon the distinctly familiar script of one, Harry Potter.

_'Got a minute? I want to gloat.'_

A single sculpted eyebrow raised into Marvolo's forehead as he read the single line, and an amused glint flashed in his eyes.

He hesitated for a moment before sighing slightly and standing up. He strode across the room to his desk and set the book down in the center as he took his seat. He reached across to grab a quill and a moment later was pressing it to the surface of the book.

_'What did you do now?'_ he wrote back.

A spark of delight shot through the link before it opened fully and Marvolo couldn't stop the small upwards turn of his lips from forming at the sense of connection he felt.

_'I had a meeting with Sirius Black today.'_

_'And?'_ Marvolo wrote with mild impatience.

_'I got inspired. It just came to me in a fit of brilliance.'_

Marvolo rolled his eyes and pushed _more_ impatience across the link to emphasize his lack of interest in Harry's attempt to draw things out dramatically. He only got amusement back in return for his efforts. Finally more letters began to appear on the page in Harry's scrawl.

_'I told Sirius that I'm a Seer.'_

Marvolo blinked down at the page.

_'What? Why?'_

_'He'll tell Dumbledore – or maybe even just give Dumbledore a pensieve memory of the whole meeting, which would honestly be quite brilliant, I wish I could see Dumbledore's face when he finds out – and Dumbledore will jump on finally getting an 'explanation' for the 'truth' about mysterious Harry Potter.'_

_'Why do we care about that?'_ Marvolo wrote.

_'Because of what else I told Sirius that my 'visions' have shown me. I basically said that they were wasting their time chasing after you and that you and the Death Eaters weren't going to be the problem – the muggles would be. I said that if Dumbledore had his way in the Wizengamot, and with our future relations with the muggles, that we'd all die horrible, miserable, deaths, filled with suffering, and witches being raped, and children being sold as slaves and what not. Very dark and scary stuff that will leave an impact.'_

_'And the point of all this?'_ Marvolo prodded.

_'To make them second-guess everything,'_ Harry wrote out and Marvolo could feel the smugness oozing through the link.

He had to admit, Harry just might have something there.

_'Their inspiration for 'fighting the good fight' is because they believe they're doing what's right. That they're protecting the weak and defending the masses from the big, bad, prejudiced, pure-bloods, who insist on hating the muggles for no good reason, rather than try to live in peace with them etcetera, etcetera. They like to think in absolutes – black and white – good and evil. They're the good guys and we're the bad guys –' _Harry went on.

_'They don't think of you as a 'bad guy','_ Marvolo pointed out. _'Simply misguided or mislead or some such rubbish.' _

He could feel Harry's amused exasperation and could practically _hear_ the incredulous snort the other had probably made in response to that line.

_'Yeah, well, I'm sure that they'll start to change their mind in that regard at some point, but that's besides the point. Like I said, they like to think in absolutes. It gives them motivation to keep going if they truly and wholly believe that they're doing __what's right__. But if they start to second guess the 'goodness' of what they're doing, they'll falter. Internal bickering will start. Doubt will surface and breed. Especially if Sirius shares a few of the secrets I let slip about Dumbledore's not-so-spotless past."_

_'Oh now you've got me intrigued,'_ Marvolo wrote and sat up a bit straighter, feeling his interest pique.

_'Have I not mentioned – no... actually, yeah, I don't think I have. Well, I guess the biggest one is that Dumbledore and Grindlewald were lovers.'_

_'What?'_

Marvolo could _feel_ Harry's laughter over the link, and no doubt, his own incredulous shock only served to amuse Harry further.

_'Oh, it gets better. So Dumbledore and Grindlewald were involved during the summer after Dumbledore graduated from Hogwarts. That spring, his mother had died, leaving Dumbledore – the eldest – to look after his two younger siblings. But he spent the summer running around with Grindlewald and making plans for muggle domination and subjugation – no, really. I'm serious – instead of looking after his ill younger sister, so instead his younger brother Aberforth had to attend to her. Come the end of summer, Aberforth confronted Albus, telling him he couldn't keep doing this because he had to look after their younger sister, Ariana, once Aberdorth was back in school. The whole thing exploded into a huge fight between Aberforth, Albus, and Grindlewald. Ariana got upset and in the confusion, __someone__ accidentally killed Ariana.'_

_'Great Merlin, why are we not using this? We could smear that pathetic old man and destroy his pristine public image!'_ Marvolo wrote so quickly that his normally perfect penmanship became jagged and rough.

_'I've been waiting for the best time. It's not something I want to just throw out there, just because I can. If nothing else, it's glorious blackmail material should he ever threaten me when it's especially ill timed.'_

_'Yes, I suppose I see your point,'_ Marvolo conceded, although his own personal hatred for the old man, and the image he could imagine of Dumbledore coming under such scrutiny and public scorn, overrode some of his better sense. It was a delightful image. _'I fully expect that we _will _be releasing that information at some point, however.'_

_'Oh, of course.'_

_'Good. So what other seeds of doubt did you plant in Black's mind?'_

_'Uhm... well, I told him that Dumbledore knew about him being innocent all along, but left him to rot in Azkaban in order to gain control over where I got placed – and then to keep the fact that he'd lost me secret.'_

_'Is that true?'_ Marvolo wrote back, feeling mildly surprised by the revelation.

_'Partially yes, partially no. I rather suspect that he didn't care if Sirius was guilty or not as long as the situation benifitted his needs. He probably did, in fact, think Sirius was guilty, but knew there was the chance that he wasn't. He made sure that no one had the opportunity to find out one way or another, though.'_

_'And people call me cruel and evil,'_ Marvolo wrote, rolling his eyes at the old man's hypocrisy.

_'I would argue that you are no longer 'evil' but rather simply __Machiavellian.'_

_'Many associate the term Machiavellian with 'evil','_ Marvolo wrote back.

_'Simply because those people are ignorant of what the word truly means. What the man's philosophy was really about. Hell, even Dumbledore secretly subscribes to a number of Machiavellian principles.'_

_'The ends justify the means,'_ Marvolo wrote, smirking sardonically.

_'Precisely. Of course, he would never openly admit to it. He hides it behind the pretense of a caring, wise old man, who gives people second chances, and only wants to see the good in people. He presents a certain image and it disarms people, making them vulnerable to being used a pawns in his giant game of chess.'_

Marvolo could feel a wave of surprisingly intense bitterness flowing across their link, and he paused to ponder the miasma of other emotions he felt attached to that bitterness.

_'You hate him, don't you?'_ Marvolo wrote finally, as if coming to a sudden epiphany. The concept didn't really surprise him, since he himself quite thoroughly hated Dumbledore, but he hadn't thought, before this moment, that Harry felt strongly enough about _anyone_ anymore to really 'hate' them. He got deeply annoyed and frustrated by the inconvenience that some people represented, and he held very little respect, and mild contempt for a great many people, but Marvolo had almost come to believe that Harry cared so little for other people that he no longer felt any of them were worth the effort required to legitimately _hate_ them.

He had told him as much sometime over a year ago when discussing hate, and at what point Harry had stopped hating 'Voldemort', and Harry had specifically said that it took far too much energy to truly _hate_ someone, and it was such an exhausting endeavor that it was hardly worth it.

But Marvolo supposed that didn't mean that Harry didn't still hate some people, and if there was anyone who warranted it, Dumbledore was one of them.

_'There is a fine line between love and hate,'_ Harry wrote a moment later._ 'Sometimes the strongest and deepest hate that you can find between two people, are from former spouses. A divorced couple can often hate each other with a fiery passion you won't find many other places, because they __know__ each other so well. They know every fault and flaw the other person possesses, and they've been hurt by those faults and flaws. The love I held for that man was that of a beloved, trusted mentor – a guide whenever I experienced troubles. I trusted him implicitly, and even in later lives where I thought I knew better than to follow him blindly, I still loved him, and he still guided me,'_ Harry wrote after a long pause.

_'When did that love turn to hate?' _Marvolo asked.

_'You know... I'm not even sure. But I hate him more today then I ever hated you.'_

– –

_The one who adapts his policy to the times prospers, and likewise that the one whose policy clashes with the demands of the times does not._

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

The large fireplace flashed to life with green flames, then followed by the black spinning figure of one, Severus Snape. He came to a stop and stepped out of the hearth with a practiced grace that many would envy. He took one quick, dismissive glance around the room with a sneer of disdain on his features before striding across the dismal kitchen towards one of the open seats on the opposite side of the worn old wooden table.

Eyes filled with caution and suspicion followed him, as usual,but he ignored them easily enough. He noted that Dumbledore wasn't there yet, but that was hardly anything new. The man was always the last to arrive – usually with Minerva in tow, but for once, she was here before him. Personally, Severus thought it was utterly reckless for the both of them to leave the school at the same time like this – especially with the addition of both himself, _and_ Lupin, also in attendance of this meeting.

Chances were next to nil that someone would launch an attack on the school, but having both the Headmaster, Deputy-Headmistress, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, _and_ himself, all gone at the same time, drastically reduced the number of skilled fighters remaining at the school to protect it. In fact, Severus would say that Flitwick was the _only_ remaining faculty member with any legitimate defensive and offensive skill left at the school right now.

He let his eyes travel around the space that was the filthy legacy that Black inherited from his god-awful family. The house had belonged to Black's family, and his father had been a paranoid bastard, so it was already warded beyond reason, even before Black volunteered it to Dumbledore the previous summer for use by the Order. Given the monumental arguments the two had shared in this very room on several occasions since that time, Severus wondered if Black were regretting his generosity.

He rather doubted it, honestly. Black despised the house and avoided spending time in it at all costs – which also lent to it's rather appallingly filthy state.

_Speaking of Black – _

Severus noted that the man was missing. Minerva, Doge, Vance, Tonks, and Arthur and Molly Weasley were all present, but no Black. For that matter, Lupin wasn't there yet, either.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when he heard the man's familiar voice coming from the stairs that led down into the kitchen that they all presently occupied.

"– know you should tell them," Lupin's voice was calm but stern.

"I _know,"_ came Black's voice in return, in a disgusting _whine._ "But if I do that, Harry will _never_ trust me!"

Lupin heaved a sigh that was loud enough that Severus knew they were on the bottom landing, and a moment later the door was pushed open the rest of the way to reveal Remus Lupin, looking worn and shabby as ever, followed closely by Sirius Black whose face was darkened with a brooding scowl.

"I don't know, Sirius... this might just be more important that whether or not he'll trust you," Lupin said in a quiet voice as he leaned in close to Black. "At the very least, the Headmaster needs to know."

"_He's _the one that Harry would want me to keep it secret from _the most_," Black growled and his face darkened further.

Severus' curiosity was piqued.

"Did he tell you to keep it secret from the Headmaster?" Severus chimed in, in a bland tone.

Black's head swiveled around so fast, Severus was surprised the man's neck didn't crack. The scowl that was already on his face twisted into a sneer.

"What?" he snapped.

"Did Potter _explicitly_ tell you to keep, whatever this is, secret?" Severus drawled.

Black frowned. "Not _explicitly_, no," he said sarcastically.

"And he didn't make you sign any sort of secrecy contract?" Severus pressed on, still sounding bored.

Black blanched. "What? No! He wouldn't _need_ a secrecy _contract_ with me! I'm not one of your Slytherins, _Snivellus_."

"If you will recall, Black, _Potter_ is one of _my_ _Slytherins,"_ Snape sneered, and Black flinched before scowling.

"Yeah, but _I'm not_. He knows that he wouldn't _need_ some magically binding contract to guarantee that he could trust me. If he doesn't want me to tell something, _I won't_," Black declared.

Snape scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're a fool Black, and you clearly don't know Potter at all."

"Fuck you, Snivellus! What do you know? He obviously doesn't trust you one damn bit since he wouldn't tell you a thing until you'd signed a bloody contract!"

"But he _told me_, didn't he?" Snape pointed out with a vicious smirk.

Black took on a triumphant gleam – "Yeah, well he told me _too_," Black declared.

Snape tilted his chin up and eyed Black skeptically for a moment.

"And _you_ have the freedom to speak – unlike Severus," Lupin pointed out in a calm but insistent manner as he placed his hand on Black's shoulder.

Sirius's head swirled around and he looked at Lupin pleadingly. "He said he doesn't _trust me!_ I have to prove to him that he can! I have to prove that I'll keep things he tells me, in confidence!"

Snape snorted, drawing Black's glare back on him. "I see what's going on here," he said, smirking.

"Is that so?" Black sneered sarcastically.

"Yes. Whatever it is that he told you – _he wants you to repeat it_. If he'd legitimately told you something that he didn't want Dumbledore or any of the rest of us here, to find out, then he would have insisted on a contract, or at the very least, an oath."

"Maybe it's a test! Have you considered that? Maybe he wants to test and see if I'm trustworthy?" Black shot back.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter _does not just trust people_."

"Maybe he just doesn't trust _Slytherins_," Black sneered.

"He _is_ a Slytherin."

"Oh, would you two _grow up!_" Minerva snapped, drawing both of startled gazes. There was a silent beat, during which the elder witch glared quite strictly at both men before turning her gaze, specifically, on Black. "Sirius – I'm afraid that I have to agree with Severus here. Mr. Potter does not throw around trust lightly, and from my experience, he's about the most tight-lipped child I have ever encountered. He does not share information lightly."

"You think that Harry told me because he _wants_ me to pass the information along?" Black asked incredulously.

"Well, I don't know about _that,_" Minerva said, cautiously, "but if he specifically said that he did _not_ trust you to keep things secret, and yet still told you something that appears _sensitive_ in nature, he most likely told you, knowing that there was a chance it could be repeated, and he was alright with that. If he was _not_ alright with the information spreading, he would not have told you."

Black's jaw floundered and his brow puckered with what was no doubt, painfully deep thought for the idiotic mutt. Snape sneered in his direction before folding his arms in front of his chest and taking on a look of disinterest. Inside, he wondered what the hell Potter had told Black. He thought the chances of Harry having told Black the _real truth_ was next to nil, so he couldn't help but wonder what he'd said that had Black so convinced that he now knew something big.

Since Black seemed intent on standing to the side of the kitchen, _thinking_, and not moving, Lupin reached over and began to guide the man towards a pair of available chairs. The two leaned in close and Lupin whispered something into Black's ear that earned him a frown and a shake of Black's head, in response.

"I don't know, Moony – I mean, this is _big_. Why would he tell me something so big, just to be repeated, after he's kept it secret from the Headmaster, all this time?"

"Perhaps he feels like it's the right time for the rest of us to know the truth?" Lupin offered up questioningly.

Black heaved a frustrated sigh and sank further into his seat, pouting.

"I have a better question for you, Black," Severus drawled. "Why would Potter tell _you_ – a man he barely knows at all and has only met in person _once _before – something 'so big' without taking any secrecy precautions when he has a history of being especially cautious, if he honestly wanted it kept secret?"

Black's pinned Severus with an intense glare and his lip curled up in a sneer. But before he had a chance to actually say anything, the Floo flared to life and Severus was relieved to see that Dumbledore had finally deigned to grace the rest of them with his company. Not that he was actually happy to see Dumbledore – rather, he was relieved because the sooner Dumbledore showed up, the sooner the damned meeting could get underway, and the sooner it would be over with.

Everyone settled into their seats as Dumbledore made his way to the head of the table and greeted them.

The man gave his customary introductory speech that Severus mostly tuned out. Tonks was called on to give a report first, and she rattled on for a few minutes on what had been going on with the Aurors, mostly just revealing that, no, there really hadn't been _anything_ that could possibly be a Death Eater raid or any other signs of activity of any sort, and no, she really didn't have anything worthwhile to share.

Doge spoke next and he and Dumbledore rambled on about a few specific legislation bits gaining support among the House of Lords that seemed to go over the head, or at least, beyond the interest, of most of those in attendance.

What was garnered by those less politically inclined, was that Lucius Malfoy seemed to be behind a majority of those legislative measures, and therefore, they were obviously evil. Severus barely refrained from rolling his eyes and sneering at the lot of them.

Finally, Dumbledore turned his focus on Black and the man visibly paled before scowling.

"Sirius – I believe that your meeting with Harry was yesterday, was it not?"

Black's jaw seemed to clench for a moment and he sat up straighter, almost defiantly. "It was."

"Do you have anything to report from that meeting? Do you feel you were at all successful in convincing Harry not to support the Malfoy's petition for his guardianship?"

Black snorted. "No. Definitely not successful in that," he said, bitterly.

Dumbledore frowned. "Did... did the matter of Harry's inherited seats in the Wizengamot come up, by any chance?"

"Oh, it definitely came up," Black said. "He says that Malfoy has promised to vote his seats for him, and he's okay with that. He _wants_ it, in fact. He said he was quite pleased with the whole situation, even though it had been annoying at first."

Dumbledore's expression darkened and his forehead became even more lined than usual. "That is most distressing. Did you discuss the possibility that Lucius Malfoy might be inclined to vote Harry's seats in whatever direction _he_ sees fit, rather than actually minding Harry's preferences?"

Black blew out a disgruntled huff of air and sat up straighter in his seat. "Yeah, I pointed that out, but Harry wasn't all that concerned about it. Look, Albus – Harry made one thing pretty clear, when we were going over the politics stuff; Harry is actually really aware of the whole political scene. He pays attention to it and he has formed opinions about it. I mean, he writes for bloody Magical Policy Monthly for Merlin's sake! He's not as separated from the issues as you'd hoped, and he _definitely _considers himself a Tory, even without Lucius Malfoy's influence on his seats.

"He says long before all this custody stuff even started, he had been planning on petitioning for early recognition of his Lordship for next summer so he could vote his own seats, and that if that had gone through, by next summer, his fourteen seats would be designated under the Tory party, _anyway_. But with this new arrangement, he gets access to them early. He..." Black hesitated, scowled and huffed, "He seems to hold many of the same politics as Malfoy, and doesn't think there's going to be any instances where the two of them are going to vastly disagree on any legislature."

Dumbledore's brow was deeply furrowed and a frown was firmly fixed on his aged face. Several others around the room were also frowning in varying degrees of worry and concern.

Severus, personally, was rather surprised that Potter had divulged his stance so firmly since it would put him in obvious opposition to Dumbledore. He had thought Potter would dance around it for a while longer to draw things out.

"That is... concerning," Dumbledore finally spoke, gravely.

Black huffed and looked down at the table with a conflicted expression on his face for several moments before he looked over at Severus with a glare. The two held each others hateful glares for several long beats before Black growled and turned his gaze back on Dumbledore. "He told me something else."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... it's... well, it's big. Huge, really. It explains everything about him that we've been so confused by, all this time."

"Explains everything?" Dumbledore echoed, sitting up straighter in interest.

"Yeah. It explains how he knew who I was – how he knew where to find me out in that cave – about my animagus form, and about Pettigrew. It explains how he knew about Remus back when they 'met' on the train – it explains _everything_."

Dumbledore leaned forward on the table, tense with anticipation. Several others in the room echoed the movement, and Severus could tell that Minerva was also quite intrigued, even though she tried to remain outwardly impassive.

Black sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "He's a Seer."

Eyes widened all around and Dumbledore's lips parted in silent surprise.

Severus nearly barked out an incredulous laugh, but managed to hold it in.

_Oh, this is priceless._

"A seer?" Dumbledore echoed in a near-whisper.

"Yeah. He said that Trelawney is a hack, but he's not. He's the real-deal. He's had visions of the past, present, and future, for as long as he can remember. He's had visions of things that happened years – _decades_ – ago, and things that won't happen for decades to come. He knew about me, about Pettigrew, and about Remus, all because he'd seen us in visions. He knows things that no one should know, and he's seen awful things from the future that I don't think even I would be able to stomach seeing."

"What sort of things?" Molly Weasley asked, looking unsettled and worried over this last revelation in particular.

"He... he said that there's going to be a war –"

"With You-Know-Who?" Molly whispered in fear.

"No," Black said, shaking his head. "No, he said that we're wasting our time worrying about You-Know-Who. He said that there isn't going to be another _wizarding_ war. The next war is going to be with _the muggles."_

"The Muggles?" Arthur Weasley gasped.

Dumbledore reared back in his seat, brow furrowed, and lips forming a deep frown. "Are you sure?"

Black nodded. "Yeah. He said that somewhere between 2006 and 2008, the muggles, world-wide, will discover the magical world, and we won't be able to hide from them any longer. He said he's seen visions of witches being hunted down and raped, and magical children stolen from their families and sold on a black market – kept as slaves. Magical villages bombed and destroyed; our freedom and privacy taken from us by the muggle governments. A future where we're second-class citizens and persecuted for being different. I can't really explain it the way he did, but it was awful. He... he said that he wanted to start using his political influence as soon as possible because he wanted to make us stronger so that we'd have a better chance of surviving with our rights and our lives in tact, when the muggles finally find us. He said that some magical communities would be better equipped to handle things when they happen, but that in his visions, Magical Britain was one of the worse off. He thinks he can work towards fixing that through legislation."

The room was deathly silent, and all Severus could do was sit there with a blank expression while he internally exclaimed at how idiotically brilliant Potter was, while also cursing the bastard for not warning him of this, ahead of time.

"But – but we can't be sure that he's right, can we?" Tonks spoke up, but there was a slight waver of uncertainty to her voice.

"That's right – the boy could have just imagined it, or be making it up!" Vance said.

"He wasn't making it up!" Black snapped indignantly.

"Sirius – you don't _know_ that –" Molly Weasley offered hesitantly.

"He knew other things," Black said, resolutely. "Things he shouldn't be able to know. He's known things about me and about Remus – all sorts of things that there's no reasonable explanation for how or why he knew them. Things that _no one else_ ever could have known."

"Sirius –" Dumbledore began gently, but hesitantly, "this is quite a lot to take in, obviously, and we will take this new development under due consideration, but we must also consider the possibility that... that what he says he's seen isn't real."

"He knew about your sister," Black said in a cold, challenging tone.

Dumbledore's eyes widened and Severus could practically see the color as it drained from the old man's face. His interest piqued instantly and he observed Dumbledore with even closer scrutiny than was usual. Severus had never heard anything about Dumbledore having a _sister_.

"I'm sorry – what?" Dumbledore said, and his voice had a slightly hoarse timbre to it.

"Ariana. Oh – and _Grindlewald_. He knew about _that._ Told me _aahh-ll_ about it. Interesting little story – don't you think?" Black said, pinning Dumbledore with narrowed, accusing eyes, while Dumbledore's face grew ever paler.

Dumbledore closed his mouth and appeared to swallow thickly before managing to compose himself. "How did this particular topic come up, may I ask?"

"He asked me how I can stand to even speak to you, let alone associate with you," Black said in a cold tone of voice, and Severus wished more and more with each passing second that he had some idea what it was that had so clearly unsettled Dumbledore. He'd have to ask Harry later and hope to hell the brat would feel like sharing.

Dumbledore blanched slightly before frowning almost sadly, as if he were hurt. "Sirius, my boy – I know we've had our disagreements, but –"

"I won't even get into that part of it," Black interrupted sharply, "but he _did_ mention some things that I think you and I need to have a little _chat_ about. But mostly, he just pointed out that you weren't nearly as saintly as everyone seems to believe, nor that you really, necessarily know what's best for us. He pointed out a history of _mistakes_ you've made and the measures you've taken to try and _hide them._ He didn't seem to think that your track record was a glowing endorsement for you being the one making the _big_ decisions."

"Sirius Black!" Molly Weasley exclaimed in a scolding tone, but Black held his hand up to quiet her.

"Let me finish," Black snapped before turning his glare back on Dumbledore. "He also said that he's seen multiple futures – that he could see which paths would lead to what outcomes, and the path where _you_ get everything you think you want – everything you _think _is for the best – was the future where things turned out the worst for us after the muggles found us. He said you would have us only use diplomacy and compromise to avoid conflict, even when it was clear we were being destroyed by it. And in the end, we'd have nothing left of our way of life because they'd see us as weak, and take it all away. They'd use us up and spit us out. And we'd have let ourselves become so weak and divided by that time that when we finally started fighting back, we wouldn't be able to save ourselves. Everything, destroyed. Everything lost. He didn't paint a pretty picture, Albus. It was pretty awful, actually."

Dumbledore slowly sank back in his chair, looking rather stunned. No one made a sound; everyone looked shell-shocked.

"Can..." Vance began but her voice cracked so she had to clear her throat, "can we ask the boy to give us some more concrete evidence that he really can foretell the future?"

"You never asked Sybil Trelawney to prove she could really See anything, and yet you've all been relying on her _prophecy_ foretelling that Harry would destroy You-Know-Who," Sirius growled lowly.

Minerva snorted but then tried to cover it up as clearing her throat. It was very hard for Severus not to smirk, and to keep his face impassive instead.

"You-Know-Who never even would have gone after James, Lily, and Harry, if not for that prophecy," Lupin whispered softly, and Severus felt his chest tighten at the implications. He swallowed his reaction down, and never gave any outward sign in response.

"Harry said Trelawney's a hack," Sirius said lowly, looking down at the table in front of him and scowling. "He said that Trelawney made her _prophecy_ at a job interview for the divination post –" he paused and glared up at Dumbledore, "is that true? Did the _prophecy_ that sent You-Know-Who after the Potters, happen during a ruddy _job interview?"_

Dumbledore tipped his chin up, somewhat defiantly. "It did. But I went to a great deal of trouble to confirm it's authenticity. There was a dramatic shift in Sybil's countenance, voice, and tone at the time, and –"

"And she could have been acting, just as she's been 'acting' every other ruddy time that woman _Saw_ anything," Minerva spoke up sharply. It was no secret that she held absolutely no respect for Sybil Trelawney and had long-since wanted her sacked. Dumbledore kept her on only in order to 'protect' her from those who would seek the prophecy from her mind.

Murmurs spread around the room quickly and it was obvious that it was only going to get worse.

"Alright – let's settle down, everyone," Dumbledore said slightly louder than before and drawing all eyes back to him. A moment later, Dumbledore turned his gaze on Severus. "Severus – I know that you are held tightly by the terms of the contract Harry had you sign two years ago, but can you at least confirm or deny what Sirius has told us here today?"

Snape tilted his chin up, eyeing the other man critically for a moment and looking as if he were legitimately considering the question.

"I believe..." he began slowly – _thoughtfully_ – "that I can say whether what Black has said is something that was also told to me and not be in breach of the contract."

"_Well?" _Black asked.

Severus gave them a clipped nod of his head. "It is. _And, _he's demonstrated to me, on numerous occasions, that he was not lying, either. I cannot give specific examples, however. But I believe he's telling the truth."

The silence reigned supreme once again, and the troubled looks on everyone's faces told Severus that this was working. Potter really was brilliant, and he knew these people well enough to know how news like this would effect their morale. This would destroy their motivation; cause them to second-guess everything; slow the progress of all of their plans.

Dumbledore sank back into his chair, looking older than he had in years, with a pensive frown across his face.

"This has given me much to think about," he said after a few beats of silence. "I... I believe I will try to speak to Harry myself."

"He doesn't like you," Black said, pointedly and Dumbledore only frowned more deeply.

"I still need to speak with him," Dumbledore said resolutely and Black gave him a dismissive shrug as if he were wishing him luck on a doomed mission.

"What do we do, if it turns out it's true?" Tonks asked then, with a frown of worry on her face. "If Potter really is a seer, and he's been making plans – political plans – to try and save us from some awful war that'll happen twelve years from now, then shouldn't we be trying to help _him?_"

"Obviously, we would need to know what these plans are that he's made first," Dumbledore said with a warning edge to his voice. "Harry Potter – no matter how advanced academically he may be – is still just a fourteen year old boy. He may _think_ he knows what's best, but he will still need the guidance and advice of his elders and right now, I fear, the only elders providing any guidance are very poor role models, indeed. This new revelation only emphasizes the importance that we get Harry as far away from the Malfoys as possible."

Severus scoffed. "Good luck with that," he remarked sarcastically.

Dumbledore turned his gaze on Severus and cocked a single questioning eyebrow. "You have something to contribute, Severus?"

"Only that you're chances of getting Potter away from Lucius and Narcissa are practically non-existent. Potter _wants_ to be placed with them. Potter _hates_ you. Narcissa has the best claim and, on paper, is the most suitable guardian. The only person here who would have any chance at all of fighting the Malfoy's claim on Potter is Black." He paused then and turned his own arched, questioning brow on Black. "Well, Black? Are you still going to fight to keep Harry away from the Malfoys?"

Black bristled and straightened in his seat while glaring at Severus. "I don't think Harry should go to bloody _Lucius_ Malfoy," he grumbled lowly.

"Do you think he should go to _you?"_

"I'd be a damn sight better to him than Malfoy would."

"But does he _want_ you?"

A flash of hurt appeared in Black's eyes for a moment before he diverted his gaze down to the table and scowled.

After another moment of silence passed with no response, Severus scoffed again. "You're all fools if you think you could force Potter to cooperate with you. If, by some utter fluke, Black did manage to win the battle and gain custody of Potter; do you honestly believe he would just go along quietly? Do you honestly believe he would ever come here? Help us? Give permission for any of _us_ to use his house seats? Don't be a fool, Albus – we both know he'd never let you touch his seats with a ten foot pole. Potter is not _indifferent_ about politics. He is not his father. Not by a long shot.

"If you want to gain Potter's favor, you're best shot would be to drop these custody cases all together and let him have his way. To continue to press on will only incur further distrust and anger, and you'll still end up losing the cases in the end. It will only make him dislike you _more_, if you incumber his endeavors to gain control over his own rightful power. _He_ wants to control his votes, and Lucius has promised not to interfere with Potter's wishes for which way Potter's votes go. Lucius wins either way simply by having Potter's seats officially designated as Tory. He gains House Majority Leadership, no matter what Potter wants to vote on individual legislation. What sense would it make for Lucius to risk incurring Potter's displeasure, when he gains so much by staying in the boy's favor?

"Give Potter what he wants, and he might be willing to listen to you present your arguments for what laws should be passed which ways. And maybe, he'll even see fit to explain to you why he wants things to go in what direction he wants them to go in."

"What Snape says makes sense, Albus," Doge said gently, giving Dumbledore a look that seemed to be cautiously asking the man to see reason.

Dumbledore's features were clouded, but mostly masked. "I will speak to Harry, first," he said finally with a firm nod of his head.

Minerva sighed and shook her head slightly. "Fine, Albus, but just make sure you don't stab yourself in the foot. The last time you called him up to your office was a disaster, and right now, I don't think you can risk alienating Mr. Potter any further than you already have."

– –

AN: As a bit of self-promotion, I'd like to direct any of you who own iOS devices (ipad, ipod, iphone) to an app called Proton Pulse. My husband and his friend made it and it was just released on the app store. I made a couple models for it, actually, but didn't really contribute much else beside that.

It's a game in the genre of Pong/Breakout/Megaball/etc, but in 3D, with bright colors, and techno chiptunes music (that my husband made, among other things).

You can see the trailer here: (remove the spaces)

Youtu. be/5M2asVRSDwA


	17. Chapter 17

AN: 19 pages - W00t. I wrote this in 2 days. lol. I'm on a roll!

– –

_Rome remained free for four hundred years and Sparta eight hundred, although their citizens were armed all that time; but many other state that have been disarmed have lost their liberties in less than forty years._

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Albus Dumbledore sank heavily into the squashy cushioned, and ornately carved chair that rest behind his desk in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry. He let his head fall back to rest against the chair and closed his eyes as a long, slow sigh, escaped his lips. He felt drained and weary. It had been a trying few days, and he knew that this day would likely only add to his heavy burdens.

It had been three days since the meeting at Grimmauld Place, and he felt as if everything was falling apart already. No one wanted to do anything until he had spoken with Harry Potter himself and had something concrete to tell them. Even Elphias wanted to put their legislative goals on hold, which Albus was finding most bothersome since he felt there was little time to waste in those matters.

He had neglected his duties in regards to the House of Lords for _years_ now, in all honesty, but it was the last couple years while he focused most of his sparse free time to searching for any clues as to what Voldemort might be up to, that he had neglected it most. He still sat in on the assemblies and read the reports, but he wasn't paying _close enough attention_ to the bigger picture of what was going on, to really _see_ what had been happening.

Over the past two years, more and more of the swing votes had been swaying towards one side over the other. The legislation that was going through had mostly seemed innocuous, but Albus had only just recently begun to see a pattern in things, and how various clauses that had been added into the fine print, worked _together_ to undermine work he had been doing in the Wizengamot for the last ten years.

It had been picking up momentum over the last year, and the last few months, specifically, there had been a drastic ramping up of things. Lucius Malfoy and many of his closer associates had been introducing completely new legislation, where they once wouldn't have bothered to even try because they never would have made it through the debate panels to the actual policy creating write-ups. But they were making it through now. Now, even people whom Albus had always considered safely in his pocket, were siding against him, and it was this that had finally drawn his attention back on the Wizengamot.

This, he would admit, was one of the motivating factors behind his decision to finally move forward on petitioning for Harry Potter's guardianship. He'd been considering it for some time now, but had hesitated. After all, it _was_ a rather underhanded thing to try and use the boy, simply for his political power. Albus had been tempted, all those years ago when he learned that James was going to just ignore his seats and do nothing, to ask the young man to allow him to make use of them instead, but had decided against that too. It just wasn't _right_, and so he had held back the his desire, just as he had held back the desire to try and gain control of Harry's votes. He deeply regretted that hesitation now, however. Not just in acquiring a controlling interest in Harry's political power, but also in gaining a controlling interest in _Harry._

He feared he had given in far too often to the whims of a boy. Perhaps if he had put his foot down and demanded the boy concede to the commands of his elders, things wouldn't have deteriorated so far as they had. But he had been afraid. Afraid of losing Harry Potter completely; afraid of his mistakes being exposed. As it was, he was still dealing with the fallout of _that_ reality coming out. Fortunately, it was contained within a limited circle of individuals and none who knew had made any efforts to bring about some form of prosecution for negligence. It had hit the time statue for such prosecution, and because Harry Potter had not suffered any ill from the mistake or the cover-up, nothing was being done against Albus for his blunder.

But he knew he'd been lucky in that regard. That was another reason he had avoided bringing on Harry Potter's obvious displeasure by trying to force the boy to bend to their rules. Had he feared that coming into direct conflict with Harry over his guardianship, or seeming lack there of, would have led to Harry himself bringing to light the full truth of Albus' mistakes, and likely exposed it to public scrutiny. He still feared that, in fact, but so far Harry didn't seem inclined to retaliate in such a way. In fact, Harry's guardianship battle had, surprisingly enough, managed to remain confidential. The newspapers didn't even know about it yet.

But now Albus was once again being faced with the decision to bend to the will of a child, or to put his foot down and demand the boy behave. He wanted to do the later, for he was truly tired of bending to the will of a child. The problem was that he feared he would have no real choice in the matter. He'd allowed Potter freedom for so long, he would have trouble taking it from the boy now. And Harry would also fight much harder to hold onto it. He was half a year from hitting 15, and once he reached that age, he was within reasonable distance of petitioning for emancipation and recognition of his status as a Lord.

Given the amount of power and influence the boy already held, not to mention his demonstration of his academic _and_ _professional _accomplishment, Albus had little doubt the boy would get precisely what he wanted.

It was troubling to hear that Harry considered himself a Tory, but Albus had to admit that it was hardly a surprise. He'd read every article Harry Potter had had published in Magical Policy magazine and had already seen the inclination in the boy's political leanings. That wasn't to say the boy's writing was biased – in fact, he was surprisingly _unbiased_, in general. And even discussed the merits of opposing viewpoints to his own arguments.

It was such a bright boy.

Remarkably intelligent; but also _cold_. From Albus' observations, he had determined that Harry Potter appeared very detached from his emotions. Even with the few of his peers that he appeared to consider friends, he always seemed to keep himself a step back from them. It was like Harry was _above_ them, looking down and humoring them whenever they eagerly sought his attention and approval.

It was remarkably familiar... it made Albus think of another young Slytherin boy who seemed to naturally draw in a loyal following, entirely because of his intelligence, cunning, and aloofness. But at the same time, Harry Potter did not come off as cruel, nor did he seem nearly as bitter or angry with the world that Tom Riddle had. Harry was almost disinterested in the rest of the world.

Harry Potter was always buried in his books and his research. What Albus wouldn't give to read even one of those journal books Harry was always writing in. He'd love any opportunity to get a glimpse at the internal workings of the boy's mind. He knew it would be a truly complex beast.

Despite his appreciation for Harry Potter's intelligence, Albus was not nearly inclined to suddenly concede all of his own political plans and goals to the whim of a child with no real-world experience. True Seer or no. Albus would certainly be willing to take into consideration any information the boy's potential skill could offer him, in making his own conclusions, but Harry Potter would not dictate the future of wizarding Britain's public policy – and most certainly not if Harry Potter was taking advice from someone like Lucius Malfoy.

If it were up to Lucius Malfoy, every dangerous bit of magic ever banned would be legalized for the masses to do with, however they pleased. Children would be taught, from a young age, to wield the ancient magics that didn't require the use of a wand, and then there would be no way to control any that would become criminals in the future, to prevent them from using magic to protect the people. Without the ability to stop their magic use through removal of their wand, there would be no course of punishment besides putting that wizard to death, or giving them The Kiss. The only way to keep their society as a whole, safe, was to be able to control those that would use their power for evil, and they could not control them, if they could not stop them from using that power when it was necessary.

Not only that, but if Lucius Malfoy had his way, there would be nothing stopping the average wizard from doing whatever they pleased in regards to the muggles. They could do all sorts of horrible or awful acts and then simply wipe the memory from their minds. They could control them through magical means and force them to do things against their will. Such actions would only bring about exposure of the magical world, and if the Magical Ministry couldn't control its subjects, the treaties they held with the muggle government would crumble.

The enmity that people like Lucius Malfoy held for the muggles would only grow and spread in a world where the government didn't protect them. It would generate further discord and malcontent among the people, creating more and more distrust. Persecution of the muggleborn would continue to rise, and any of their work towards equal rights for employment and pay would no doubt dissolve along with the protections of the muggles themselves.

No; Albus couldn't allow Malfoy to come into power in this way, especially not if there was the chance that Voldemort was behind any of the political machinations that Albus had seen recently. If Harry Potter truly did side with Lucius Malfoy on those matters, then there was no way that Albus could ever agree to side with him on political issues. He didn't care if Harry claimed that it was somehow important for some supposed future reason. A future where he had to sacrifice these fundamental values was not a future worth working towards. Of that, he was convinced.

He supposed that this coming meeting would give him some idea of what was to come, as Harry Potter was due in his office very shortly.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and Harry had a free block this afternoon, so Albus had thought it would make for a good time to meet with the boy. Severus had met with Harry Monday evening, and had relayed Albus' request for a meeting, at that time, so Albus knew that Harry was well aware of the time and his password for entry.

That thought also brought Albus' mind back to the concerns he'd been harboring for some time now about Severus and his loyalties. He had been so sure, for so long, that he need not worry about which side Severus would take, once Lord Voldemort made his return, but that confidence had been leaving him of late. The biggest concern was that he knew his hold over Severus was mostly reliant on Severus' own guilt in regards to the late Lily Potter, and the oath that Severus had given to Albus, over thirteen years ago, that he would always do everything in his power to protect Lily's son.

Perhaps he really should have insisted that Severus' oath be to loyalty to Albus and their cause, but he hadn't thought he could truly gain the man's _loyal _service with such a demand. Guilt was much more powerful tool to control a person. An open and blatant promise of service would only engender bitterness in the end, but with guilt, Severus would remain loyal on his own.

Now... now Dumbledore was far less confident in his choices. After all – Severus had fundamentally sworn loyalty to _Harry Potter_, not to Albus himself, and as more time passed, the more obvious it was becoming that Albus and Harry Potter were not entirely on the same side.

But Albus was still at least confident that Severus would not loyally serve Voldemort again. He had no respect for men with no self-control or sanity, and on the most fundamental level, Severus rightfully blamed Voldemort for the death of the woman he had loved. Albus hoped that truth was also enough to guarantee that Harry Potter would also never feel inclined to side with Voldemort, either.

Not that Voldemort would ever actually take him – the man was too far gone to see the benefit in an alliance with the boy who was renowned for having defeated him before. And Albus did not believe that Tom Riddle could ever truly get over his fear and need for revenge, enough to allow himself to take the boy as an ally. Not a _real_ ally, at least. He would only ever do it with the intention to eventually betray Harry and kill him anyway, and Harry was far too intelligent to let himself be used by a man who intended to kill him in end.

Still – Severus' loyalties _were_ a matter of concern for Albus. He felt he could trust that Severus was more loyal to himself than Voldemort, but he was growing increasingly convinced that Severus' loyalties were stronger to Potter than to himself. He'd suspected as much for some time now, if only because of his iron-clad refusal to reveal any of the truths that Harry Potter had revealed about himself to Severus. Albus knew that the contract was powerful, and about as airtight as a secrecy vow can get, but that sort of magic had never stopped Severus from accomplishing what he needed to accomplish before.

Voldemort's Dark Mark had powerful magics in it to prevent treachery and yet Severus had found his ways around that. He was a brilliant man, and a powerful wizard. He was even more skilled at Legilimency and Occlumency than Albus himself was. Probably even more skilled at it than _Voldemort_ was, and it was these skills that allowed him to bypass certain magics that most men found themselves utterly bound by.

No, Albus did not believe that Severus would be entirely incapable of getting around Harry Potter's secrecy contract, were he truly inclined to do so. Severus had _chosen_ to keep Harry's secrets, secret. The question was, was this entirely because of old loyalty to Harry's mother and the oath that Albus himself had made Severus give, or was it because of something Harry had said? Had Harry, _himself_, convinced Severus that secrecy from Albus was justified and necessary?

Albus heaved a heavy sigh and opened his eyes to the warm light of his office, and the slight smokiness of the air near the ceiling from the various puffing instruments placed around the room. It wouldn't be long now, until Harry showed up and still Albus was not entirely sure what he was going to do. The outcome of the last meeting they had, had been so unpredictable, it had left Albus off balance around the boy, and that feeling had never entirely left him. Harry Potter always seemed to defy his expectations of the boy's behavior. There were too many missing variables to effectively predict how the boy would react. It was one of the other reasons he'd finally moved forward on the guardianship petition.

He had _so_ hoped that this would force the person who had looked after Harry all those years, to finally reveal themselves. He wasn't sure if he believed the story that the person who had collected Harry was an illegitimate bastard of Charlus Potter, nor was he convinced that the person had died the previous summer leaving Harry alone now to look after himself. The claim that Harry had been collected by the muggle police and then social services and placed in a home – well, he was convinced that _that_ could not be true, because he had utterly scoured all of those places in the weeks following Harry's disappearance. It also didn't explain why none of his scrying spells had worked during that time or any time after.

No, there was undoubtedly more going on than had been revealed, and as long as he had absolutely no idea of what sort of life Harry had lived those nine and a half years after the Potter's death, up until Harry came to Hogwarts, he would never effectively be able to understand and predict the boy's actions.

He was drawn from his musing thoughts by the little ward notification that told him that Harry Potter had just passed by the gargoyle at the base of the stairs. He sat a bit straighter in his seat and set himself in a properly poised manner as he waited for the alert that would tell him that Harry had reached the top of the spiral stairs.

"Come in, Harry," he called out calmly when that notification came, and a moment later the door was being pushed open to reveal Harry Potter. The boy gave him a curt nod before closing the door behind him and striding across the space to the desk with an air of bored indifference.

"Headmaster," Harry greeted curtly before sitting in the chair opposite the desk without waiting for an invitation to do so.

"Harry," Albus greeted back. "Lemon Sherbet?" he asked as he picked up the small bowl of yellow and white colored sweets and offered them to Harry.

"No thank you," Harry said flatly, ignoring the bowl, entirely.

"Shame," Albus said, giving a slightly disappointed look to the young man before him and setting the bowl back down.

A small warble of a trill came from the other side of his office, temporarily drawing his attention away from Harry and over to his familiar, Fawkes, instead. He frowned slightly as a slight wave of wary suspicion seemed to come off Fawkes in regards to Harry. Something similar had happened the last time Harry had been summoned here, in fact.

Harry ignored the bird entirely – not even deigning to look in it's direction. It was rare that a person could entirely ignore their curiosity when it came to such an incredibly rare magical creature. A phoenix was generally a guaranteed draw of any witch or wizards gaze. But not Harry's, apparently.

"Professor Snape said you wished to speak with me, Headmaster?" Harry said then, prodding their meeting forward with partially concealed impatience.

"Ah – yes. You're not much one for idle pleasantries, are you?" Albus said, looking over the top of his spectacles and giving Harry a look that usually quelled any other student's inclinations towards a lack of respect. Harry, however, simply continued to give him a bland, unimpressed look.

"I'm afraid I simply see no point in wasting my time when it's not necessary," Harry replied before shifting in his seat so he was relaxed back a bit, and raised one leg to cross over the knee of the other. "Professor Snape tells me that Mr. Black informed you of – my _gift_? I understand it happened in a meeting in the company of a number of other people," Harry went on and a smirk curled the corner of his mouth while a spark of amusement flashed in his eyes. "No doubt, you would have rather that conversation happen somewhere a bit more private."

"He did inform me, yes," Albus replied, opting not to react to the other portion of the previous statement.

"Did you believe him?"

"I cannot know what to believe. Obviously, Sirius believed what he said – I do not question his honesty –"

"Just mine," Harry said, interrupting.

"Hardly, my boy. That is why I asked you to come here today – so that we could discuss it directly."

"I'm not _your boy._"

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't like being called _boy_. I would kindly ask you refrain."

Albus nodded his head slowly, eyeing the boy with slightly narrowed eyes.

"If that is what you want," he finally conceded.

"So you wish to ask me questions about my gift? Ask," Harry said curtly with an impatient wave of his hand.

"You told Sirius that you are a Seer?"

"Yes."

"To what extent, exactly, does this ability extend?"

"Past, present, and future. I see things in my sleep; I see them when I'm awake. In my dreams, sometimes I get impressions of entire _years_ of experiences, and sometimes I get very detailed visions of specific events instead. Sometimes I wake up and I just _know_ a person. I know their every secret and desire. A summary of their whole life, or very specific details of a single important event that dictated the rest of their life."

"That's remarkably extensive," Albus breathed. "I've never heard of anyone ever having such an extensive ability. I don't suppose you could provide some evidence to back up such a claim?"

"Did you ever require Sybil Trelawney to provide you with _proof_ that she could actually divine _anything_, after she made the 'prophecy' that signed parents death warrants, and destroyed my life?"

Albus flinched despite himself and had to take a moment to compose himself.

"Harry, surely you cannot place the blame for your parents death on Sybil's shoulders. She was not the one who cast the curse. That was Voldemort."

"Of course I can blame her," Harry said with cold indifference. "She's a fraud with no regard for the possible consequences of her words. She's selfish and irresponsible, and _you_ are a fool for having believed her – especially after it became obvious that she could never repeat her supposed one act of legitimate divination. What's more, _you_ are being irresponsible for allowing her access to students. Giving her the opportunity to influence the lives and minds of young people – giving her access to so many people that she can mislead and confuse. She provides a disgusting view of what Divination is, and discredits the entire field of study with her incompetence and fraud."

"Now, Harry, I feel that might be just a tad harsh –"

"And I would disagree with you. You and I seem to disagree on a great many things, I suppose this is just one more."

Albus heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I do not know where this animosity you hold for me comes from," he said giving Harry a sad look, "but I do not believe that I have done anything to warrant it."

Harry actually _guffawed_, and it was the loudest noise Albus had ever heard the boy make.

"Not done anything to _warrant_ it?" he echoed incredulously. "Oh that's just charming. Sure, you keep telling yourself that, Headmaster. Although, I will confess that some of my animosity might originate from the life I know I would have lived had I not left the Dursley's as soon as you and Professor McGonagall had departed Privet Drive. I've had quite detailed visions of just what fate awaited me upon my arrival there, and was not the least inclined to actually stay there and experience their _loving care_ first hand."

Albus sat up straighter in his chair, feeling rather thrown for a loop by that statement. "You were barely over a year old at the time – are you suggesting that you _remember_ things, that far back? That you experienced visions so young and understood what they were?"

"I understood perfectly well what they were and what they meant," Harry said dismissively. "And I remember nearly everything, even from my first year on this earth. I have something of an eidetic memory. It's one of the reasons I excel in my subjects so much. That, and I've had visions of taking my Hogwarts classes, multiple times, throughout the years. Years before I even got here."

"Your talent truly seems unprecedented, then."

Harry shrugged. "I rather doubt anyone else has ever been graced with my exact gift before. In fact, I'm positive that no one has."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's not a naturally occurring gift. It was given to me."

"Given?" Albus echoed in surprise. "By whom?"

"Death," Harry said, suddenly grinning mischievously.

"Death?" Albus echoed, incredulously.

"Death."

"Do you care to elaborate on that claim?" Albus asked, feeling increasingly sure that the boy was now messing with him.

"I'm going to be Death's Master someday. You could say he chose his own master, in a way. He's been grooming me so that I will be prepared for the responsibility when it finally falls upon my shoulders. He gave me my gift so I would understand what is to come, but also so that I would have the knowledge necessary to become his master."

Albus felt his lips part, but he had no words to express in response to such an absurd statement.

"I know what you're most curious about," Harry went on, giving Albus a knowing smirk. "You want to know where I was for those years when you couldn't find me. You want to know who it was that collected me off the Dursley's doorstep and took care of me when I was too little to take care of myself. If you truly want to know, _so badly_, I suppose it's only right I finally sate your curiosity."

Albus closed his mouth and observed the boy intensely, hoping to catch any and all signs of deception.

"Death," Harry said, with that wide, taunting grin, plastered on his face. "Death took on human form and came to collect me. I knew he would, just as I knew my parents were going to die. Just as I knew that Voldemort wasn't going to be able to kill me. Death had given me my gift, and waited until the right time before coming to get me. Then he placed the protections that would keep me from your grasp and gave me what I needed to survive with minimal guidance."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that," Albus finally said.

Harry shrugged indifferently. "Believe what you want. The truth is that, some day, you and I are going to duel. I am going to challenge you, and you are going to accept it, just as Gellert accepted your challenge to him, when he had no real responsibility to honor such a request. And our duel will end with my winning, and at that moment, I will claim the Elder wand from you, and become Death's Master. The Master of the Deathly Hallows."

Albus sucked in a sharp breath and eyed the boy opposite him with stunned horror. "For that to happen, you would already have to be in possession of the other two Hallows," he whispered hoarsely.

The boy's smirk only grew wider. "I already am. You gave me one of them my first year here. And I had the Resurrection Stone years before that. As I said, Death has been preparing me for what's to come. It will be my responsibility, and I will accept that responsibility with the appropriate level of respect and severity that it demands. Death chose me, Headmaster. It's my destiny. For you see, Headmaster – Death favors the magical. He wants to preserve us, and saw our end coming with the final rise of the muggles. He has given me this power so that I may protect us. So that I can save us from those who would seek to destroy us utterly."

– – –

_'Where do you come up with these things?' _Marvolo wrote and a sense of incredulous amusement worked its way across the link.

Harry grinned widely down at the page, still feeling appropriately smug about the weave of lies he'd spun for Dumbledore earlier that afternoon.

_'I've told you before that I also enjoy writing fiction. I've got quite an imagination, you know. One of the funnest things about writing stories is coming up with unexpected twists. When Snape and I had our little meeting, he confirmed what I already suspected – that Dumbledore was still fixated on figuring out who 'raised me'. He works by knowing as much about the various chess pieces as possible so that he can predict their moves, but he knows very little about me and that frustrates him. He can't predict me so long as he knows nothing about me. I knew he'd be obsessed with figuring me out, especially now that he's gotten a taste, so I sat down and tried to think up what sorts of explanations I could make up to fill that void and mess with him the most. I distracted him so thoroughly that he didn't even get around to talking me out of going with the Malfoys this spring. It was brilliant."_

"_And you come up with __Death,__ personified? I think I might want to read some of your fiction as well – you clearly have a rather eccentric imagination.'_

_'Ha ha – Well it was hardly an original idea. And I don't think you'd really be interested in my fiction.'_

_'Oh? And why not? I quite enjoy your other writings, and despite what most would believe, I do enjoy a good bit of recreational reading. I would burn out utterly if all I ever did was indulge in professional writings.'_

_'Well, most of the stuff I've written are either aimless drabbles or unfinished.'_

_'Doesn't mean I wouldn't want to read it,' _Marvolo wrote and a tinge of annoyed indignation seeped across the link. _'And you said that 'most' of it is unfinished. Surely something is finished. I've been assisting in editing your academic written pursuits for some time now and yet you've barely even mentioned your fiction before now. I had almost assumed you didn't even write any, anymore.'_

Harry sighed, feeling as if he really had no chance of dodging this subject, _'I never stopped, I just don't see it as worth mentioning.'_

_'Well, I would prefer to judge that for myself. If it's truly rubbish, then I will tell you so and won't ask to read anymore of it.'_

_Harry snorted and rolled his eyes at the empty dorm room before turning back to the book in his lap._

_'Fine, but I doubt you'll really be interested. Almost all of it – unfinished or not – is homoerotica, so I figured it was safe to assume you wouldn't be actually __want__ to read any of it.'_

A pause of stunned surprise seemed to echo through his mind for a moment before curiosity and intrigue filled it. _'Homoerotica? Are you saying that you write gay porn?' _The amused incredulity Harry felt from Marvolo made Harry shake his head and grumbled – fully expecting the other to tease him with this information for weeks to come.

_'Yes, that is what homoerotica means,' _Harry wrote back feeling himself flush slightly with annoyed embarrassment, _'you can hardly blame me for indulging in that sort of thing -somewhere- in my life, considering I've had to endure celibacy for almost the entirety of the last fourteen years.'_

More curiosity, but now with a tinge of annoyance and something else Harry wasn't entirely sure what to call, creeped its way across the link. _'Not __entirely__ celibate? Been sneaking off __into broom closets with the children, Harry?'_

Harry gave the book a sardonic grimace. _'Hardly. No, I've only managed to indulge in the carnal pleasures of another man, twice, over the last decade – DECADE – and both times were one-night-stands. Obviously I did this while making use of aging potions. I don't like fucking children, even if I look like one, myself.'_

_'When was this last time you managed to indulge?'_ Marvolo wrote and Harry arched his brows into his forehead, not really having expected the man to give a crap, let alone ask additional questions like _that_.

_'Last summer while I was in France,'_ Harry wrote after a moment of confused reluctance.

The sudden increase of that unnamed emotion made it obvious enough for Harry to finally put a name to it, and he was startled to realize it was _jealousy_. Jealousy and frustration and confusion.

Harry's brow puckered as he looked down at the page of the book as if it were personally responsible for his own confusion. On one hand, he supposed one possible explanation could be that Marvolo was jealous because he himself might not have had much opportunity to indulge in sex all that often lately, but Harry was pretty sure that if the man had _wanted_ to have sex with someone over the last year or two, he certainly could have. The other explanation his mind came up with just seemed so outrageously ridiculous that he felt more inclined to discard it on principle.

The emotions from the other man were quite suddenly squashed and the link felt oddly hallow all of a sudden, causing Harry to frown at the disconnect.

_'With your aging potions, you no doubt could have indulged more often than that,'_ Marvolo wrote suddenly, _'I can't help but feel curious as to why you didn't?'_

The shared emotions were still oddly muted and Harry paused, frowning, for several moments longer before choosing how honestly to answer.

_'I don't like casual sex. I prefer to be with someone I can trust. I can enjoy it a lot more that way too. Plus, I have – unique tastes. What I enjoy most requires a level of trust that you can't share with a casual partner or a one-night-stand.'_

_'I see.'_

Harry's frown deepened at the clipped response and the still-muted, detachedness of their emotional connection. He wondered if perhaps he should refrain from being so frank with his responses on this particular subject. He had decided a while ago that if Marvolo bothered to ask him a question – no matter what it was – that he'd answer it honestly. He didn't really feel there was much point in hiding things from the other man and introducing doubt or suspicion into their already weird relationship dynamic. After all, given the nature of their connection, it was nearly impossible to lie to each other. But perhaps this was one issue where he shouldn't over-share. It _was_ rather private, and Marvolo had grown up in the 20's and 30's. Harry certainly didn't take the man as having even the slightest hint of prudish tendencies, but what the hell did he know? It wasn't like they discussed sex – _ever._

_'Look, if it wierds you out, just forget I ever said anything. Like I said, I assumed you wouldn't be interested in __that__ aspect of my writing, from the beginning. I –'_

_'I'd like to read them.'_

Harry's quill stopped mid-stroke and he stared down at the page in shock.

Wait – could Voldemort be gay? Or even just bi? Or... or maybe just bi-curious?

The thought was so astoundingly bizarre he felt the urge to guffaw loudly in incredulousness, but he took pause and separated 'Voldemort' and 'Marvolo' in his mind, and if asked that same question about _Marvolo, _the thought wasn't nearly so absurd. He supposed that more than anything, he'd always put 'Voldemort' into the asexual category in his mind, because associating the creature/man with anything sexual or intimate was just so disturbing his mind would shut-down at the slightest hint of such thoughts.

But any sexuality thoughts he'd ever associated with the man, had been associated with Tom Riddle, and Harry supposed he'd always just assumed Tom Riddle would be straight. He was charismatic, handsome, sly and cunning. Willing to use his assets to his advantage in whatever way he could. Hell, he'd even flirted with old Hepzibah Smith to get into her good graces and see the Hufflepuff Cup and Slytherin Locket she'd collected. _And then promptly killed her and stolen them._

Although, _obviously_, flirting with an old witch to steal magical artifacts was absolutely no indication of his preference, which was rather obvious when Harry allowed himself to actually _think_ about it.

Tightly stifled embarrassment, mixed with frustration and impatience slowly made itself known across the link and Harry snapped out of his stunned stupor enough to look back down at the page.

_'Uh – sure. Okay. I suppose I could go digging through my creative writing journals and find some of the short stories I actually bothered to finish and send them your way when I send you my next article for MP to check over,'_ Harry wrote feeling weirdly embarrassed, and wondering just what he had that was safe to send to the other man, and for the first time, actually feeling a bit self-conscious and worried about what the other would think of him, if he read them.

He felt stupid and childish for having such worries, but that didn't change the fact that the feelings were there.

He needed to change the subject, and fast.

_'But back onto what we were talking about before this lovely little tangent – the Death thing was hardly all that original. It was actually something specific that I knew would get Dumbledore's attention and really rattle his bones. Just another little hint to remind him that I know all his dirty little secrets.'_

_'Now you've got me intrigued. Do tell,'_ Marvolo wrote back and Harry heaved a slight sigh of relief that the other man had allowed the change in subject. He rather suspected from what he felt from Marvolo that the other wizard was grateful for the shift, as well.

_'Well, I told you that Dumbledore and Grindlewald were involved back when Dumbledore was 18, and that the two of them were actually making plans for muggle domination –'_

_'I can't even wrap my mind around that.'_

_'I know. Seriously. But anyway, one of the things that drew the two together was that they were both fascinated and somewhat obsessed with an old legend about three magical artifacts called the Deathly Hallows. The legend says that anyone who can manage to bring all three objects together will become the Master of Death. Dumbledore has searched for these objects most of his life, and actually has one of them right now. The wand.'_

_'I've never heard of this,' _Marvolo wrote and Harry could sense a rather marked increase in the other man's interest. Their connection was once again fully open and Harry felt quite relieved that the muted disconnect was completely gone.

_'Funny thing is that you actually have one of the Hallows too.'_

_'I'm sorry – What?'_

Harry chuckled down at the page. _'The ring you stole from your uncle. The one with the pebble set into it with a strange triangular symbol carved into it? That's called the Resurrection Stone. I mentioned to you before that it could be used to summon the spirits of the dead for a short period of time. The stone is actually a piece of petrified dementor heart. The other two objects are a wand that's supposed to be more powerful than any other wand ever made – the Death Stick, or Elder wand – and an invisibility cloak that will never fade that is supposedly made from 'Death's own shroud', but in reality is made from a lethifold's skin. It's that cloak I told you about that belonged to my father? The one Dumbledore returned to me in my first year. _

_'The three artifacts were made by the Peverell Brothers, hundreds of years ago. They're a common ancestor for you and I, actually. Cadmus Peverell was your ancestor, while Ignotus Peverell was mine. The cloak has been passed down from one generation to the next in my family, while the ring was passed down in yours, eventually ending up with the Gaunts. Antioch, the last brother, died without any heirs, and his wand switched hands the most, because it was so desperately sought after.'_

_'Wait – what does this have to do with becoming the Master of Death? I don't see the connection.'_

_'It's from a children's story. Ever heard of Beedle the Bard?'_

_'Ah – yes, I have heard of it. Never read it, of course, but I've seen the book.'_

_'Yeah, well in 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' the story of the Three Brothers talks about these three brothers, who came across a river that would normally take the lives of anyone who dared to cross it, but the three brothers were wizards so they were able to get across it, just fine. Death appeared before them, angered that they had managed to survive where he would normally claim any other man's life, and so he decided to try and trick them in such a way that he could manage to claim their lives anyway. So he offered them each a single boon as reward for their cleverness. _

"_One asked for an unbeatable wand and got the Death Stick – later he would boast about it and a man would slip into his room that night, slit his throat and steal it. The second brother, who had recently lost his wife, asked for a way to call back the dead. He was given the resurrection stone and used it to call the spirit of his dead lover, but she was miserable being trapped between worlds and the brother eventually went mad and killed himself. The third brother asked for a way to keep himself hidden from Death's reach for the rest of his life, so Death reluctantly gave him his own cloak of invisibility – he was the only brother that lived to old age. If you're really interested, just read the book.'_

_'I will.'_

_'So anyway, I knew that this whole thing would really sting Dumbledore where it hurts most. First off, he's still deeply ashamed of that whole chapter in his life, but even despite that, he also still desperately yearns for the Resurrection stone because he wishes he could call back the spirit of his dead sister and apologize.'_

Harry could practically _feel_ Marvolo snort and roll his eyes, all the way across the link.

_'Given that he desires it so desperately, was it wise to give Dumbledore the impression that you're in possession of my ring? Especially considering the fact that you are not, in fact, in possession of it?'_

_'What does it matter? I've totally freaked him out. And I don't have it – you have it, so what harm could it do? He can't go searching through my stuff and find it – because I don't have it.'_

_'True'._

There was a pause then, and Harry could feel the cogs turning in the other wizard's mind and decided to just wait for the man to sort through whatever it was that was on his mind, before saying anything else.

_'You said that Dumbledore has the wand?'_

_'Yeah, he won it from Grindlewald during their duel. Grindlewald stole it from the wandmaker Gregorovitch. The wand, unlike the other two Hallows, never stayed with any family. A wand that is supposedly 'undefeatable' is obviously a high-demand object. Being the owner of such an object, generally puts a big target on a person's back, but Dumbledore has kept his possession of it a secret It's quite common in the wand's history, for the various owners of it to find themselves stabbed in the back while the thief makes off with the wand.'_

_'Did you ever possess all three Hallows?'_

_'Of course.'_

_'In your first life?'_

_'Yup.'_

_'Did you ever consider the fact that this could, somehow, have something to do with your seeming inability to die?'_

Harry sighed and twisted up his mouth in consideration for a moment before putting quill back down to page.

_'Yes, obviously the thought crossed my mind quite a few times. The thing is, that I'm fairly convinced that the whole 'master of death' thing is just a load of tripe. It's not like any actual personification of Death has ever come to visit me. I never had any control over other people dying or not dying. I still grew old and eventually died of natural causes in all my early lives, and died of less-than-natural causes in lives after that. Honestly, I think the whole Deathly Hallows thing is just a romantisized fairytale for three magical objects that were simply created by three prodigal magical inventors; nothing more.'_

_'Hmm.. I suppose,' _Marvolo wrote back, but Harry could tell the man was not entirely convinced, and that his mind was still whirling away at things.

_'So anyway, my meeting with Dumbledore was mostly uneventful after I stumped him by declaring to being Death's future Master. I think I sort of fried his brain with that one and totally derailed whatever topics he'd planned to cover during our little meeting. No doubt, at some point, he'll recover his senses and want to call me in for another little chat to discuss the things I dodged today, but I think it'll take him a while.'_

_'You're not concerned that his thinking you're being guided by Death won't make him even more wary of you?'_

_'He'll be wary of me no matter what happens or what I say. He's going to be trying to predict my actions, but won't be able to. Even if it were all true – how do you predict the motives of Death? You can't. And it's not true, so he's basing his predictions off false information, making them even more wrong. It's just delightful fun for me to see him flounder like this. I've put him so off-balance he's going to have trouble finding his footing for quite a while now. And he can't just outright deny the possibility that what I'm saying is true because for a good portion of his youth, he honestly and truly believed in it, and _searched_ for it. He desired these objects so he could become Master of Death, even though he didn't know what that might actually mean. I tell anyone else that I'm the Master of Death and they'd just think me crazy, but Dumbledore can't just outright dismiss it. It's perfect and just so damn much fun to fuck with him.'_

Harry could feel a warm amusement from the other man and it only made his already-present grin, spread wider. _'Well, so long as you're enjoying yourself, and screwing with the old man, I certainly can't criticize your actions. I must admit, I would love to have seen the look on Dumbledore's face when this was going on.'_

_'I can give you a pensieve copy of the memory. I got a copy of Snape's memory of the Order meeting too. He wanted to know what the hell it was that Sirius was talking about that unsettled Dumbledore so much -basically, the talk about Grindlewald and Ariana – so I made a swap. I filled him in, in exchange for his memory of the meeting, so I could see Dumbledore's reaction for myself. It was truly brilliant; I'll give you a copy too.'_

_'Is it wise to give Severus that information?'_

_'He's still under oath to me, to keep it secret, and he knows it's mine to use against Dumbledore, first and foremost. But even besides that, I wouldn't mind him using it against Dumbledore too, if he ever needed to. Dumbledore wouldn't really be surprised to learn that I'd shared it with Snape since he knows I trust the man to some extent.'_

_'I suppose it's up to you.'_

Harry heaved a contented, satisfied sigh, and let himself lean back against the headboard of his bed, where he was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by plush pillows. _'It has been an enjoyable week, over all.'_

_'I'm glad you're finding some fun in your otherwise mind-numbing life, there at the school. I personally, can't imagine how you can stand being surrounded by children, day-in, and day-out, again and again. It would drive me mental.'_

_'Awe, don't be so harsh. I imagine you'd make a brilliant teacher, if you really still wanted to.'_

_'That ship sailed a very long time ago.'_

_'True. And it'd be a bit of a waste of your monumental potential.'_

He felt a smug, amused wave from the other man, and chuckled to himself and the book in his lap.

_'But it's true that sometimes it gets rather trying, to stay here,' _Harry wrote a moment later. _'It's nice in the beginning because of the total and utter lack of daily responsibility, outside of classwork... and social maintenance – which I generally ignore, anyway. And the classwork is easy. Children take for granted how little they honestly have to worry about. I suppose it's the lake of adult responsibilities that gives them so much free bandwidth to spend worrying about such mind-numbingly stupid drivel, as they tend to occupy themselves with, day in and day out.'_

_'I suppose in some ways, its like a vacation for you,'_ Marvolo wrote after pondering for a moment. _'You have all this time to do whatever you want, and so you write and write, and read. And when you get bored with that, you find some way to amuse yourself by toying with the people around you.'_

_'Ha ha – yes, you pretty much nailed it right there. But after a few years, it does get old, and these children really are tiresome. This summer I'll be taking my OWLs, then moving up to 6th year – maybe I'll even get myself in the 7th year classes, since I intend to take my NEWTs at the end of the year. Oh, that would be brilliant. One year left. I think I can use that as motivation.'_

_'So you'll be spending the coming summer at Malfoy Manor?'_

_'That's the plan for most of it. There's only so much Draco I can take though. I've managed to enjoy the boy's company more than I ever thought I would, but he can still be a spoiled, whiny little thing at times. He's been acting so weird lately too.'_

_'Weird? In what way?'_

_'Just... bipolar, I guess. He has mood swings – he's a teenager, so really... nothing unusual. I've had kids that were just as randomly crazy at this age as he's being.'_

_'For some reason, I often forget that you've had children. How many lives did you have children in?'_

_'The first three, although, I only had biological children in the first. They were adopted in the second and third lives, and I only adopted one girl in my third life.'_

_'I see. Still more than I would have expected, but then again, I suppose you are often reminding me of just how much you've changed since those early lives.'_

_'Kids are a huge responsibility, and if I'm responsible for a kid, I can't in good conscience, kill myself should it prove necessary at some point. If I think there's some chance (which there always is, lately) that I might just call it quits on the life I'm currently working on, at some unknown point, then I can't have a kid that I'm responsible for.'_

_'That's the only reason you would avoid having children? Because if you had one you couldn't kill yourself?'_ Marvolo asked, and there was no small amount of incredulousness behind the question, coming through on the link.

_'Oddly enough, I find actually having children of your own a rather rewarding experience, beyond the exhaustion, stress, constant worry, and financial strain. That and the pain of losing them, but I've been fortunate in that I've always died before my children, so I've never had to see any of them go before me. Losing them to my repeating lives is no different than losing anyone I'd allowed myself to love. I've grown accustomed to that pain – not enough that it doesn't hurt, mostly just enough to have learned to stop letting myself care about so damn many people.'_

_'Hm – I see,' _Marvolo wrote back, and Harry felt a rather complex swirl of emotions from the other man, behind the short, simple, sentence.

Harry pondered the emotions for a moment, along with a thought teasing at the back of his mind before putting quill to paper again.

_'Has it ever crossed your mind to have children?'_

_'No,' _Marvolo wrote with decisive strokes of his quill.

Harry chuckled. _'Yeah, I figured that'd be your answer. It's never even occurred to you for the sake of carrying on the Slytherin line?'_

The response was much less decisive this time, and it took a moment before a response came.

_'As long as I live, the Slytherin line will not die out.'_

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes at the canopy of his bed.

_'There is something I am curious about –'_ Marvolo had written when Harry looked back down at the book.

_'Hm?'_ Harry wrote.

_'In your first life, where you had biological children of your own, did any of them inherit your ability for parseltongue? You told me that even after the soul piece was removed from your body, you've always still retained the ability to speak and read the snake tongue. I was curious as to whether or not you could pass it along?'_

_'Actually, one of my kids got it. But the other two didn't.'_

_'Really? Fascinating.'_

_'Yeah. It was my youngest, too. After the first two didn't demonstrate the skill, I thought it was fairly safe to assume it wasn't something I could pass on, but then, Albus went and had it – shock and awe.'_

_'Sweet Circe! Hold on. You named your child Albus?'_

_'Yes, yes. Let's move on.'_

_'No, let's not move on. You seriously named one of your children after that man?'_

_'Hey – this was my first life! You can't count that against me!'_

_'Great Merlin – what were your other children's names?'_

_'First son was James Sirius, daughter was Lily Luna, and second son was Albus Severus.'_

_'Severus!'_ Marvolo wrote, but the exclamation was accompanied much more by amusement than incredulousness, this time.

_'Har, har,'_ Harry wrote, pushing sarcasm across the link.

_'Great Merlin, does Severus know anything about this?'_

_'Of course not!'_

_'I just might tell him, someday.'_

_'You wouldn't!'_

_'Oh, I just might,'_ Marvolo wrote, and Harry couldn't help but bark out a laugh at the teasing amusement he was getting across the link from the other man. Harry snorted and shook his head, chuckling.

_'Okay, okay. It's getting late and I've got a Transfiguration essay to write.'_

_'Have fun with that,'_ Marvolo wrote back sarcastically.

Harry snorted. _'G'night Marvolo. Sunday night? Same time?'_

_'As always. Goodnight, Harry.'_

– –

_AN: My son just turned 3 this last weekend. He had a fun birthday :D_


	18. Chapter 18

– –

However strong your armies may be, you will always need the favour of the inhabitants to take possession of a province

Niccolo Machiavelli

– –

Hermione Granger stormed through the corridor towards the library, tightly clutching a rolled up newspaper in her hand and clenching her teeth almost equally tight. She knew Harry would be in the library at this time of afternoon – he always was – and Harry was her present destination.

She strode into the calm quiet space, past Madam Pince, and through the stacks towards the tables in the back that Harry favored, and found precisely what she'd been looking for, right where she'd expected to find it. Continuing her stride forward she came up to the space at the table directly opposite where Harry sat with his face firmly lowered as he read some book, and violently threw the paper onto the table in front of him.

"Is this true?" she said in as demanding a voice as she could manage while also whispering.

Harry's head rose with slow, unbothered grace, and he blinked up at her once, before letting his eyes lazily fall down onto the paper. He tilted his head to the side and frowned in confusion.

"Is what true?"

Hermione huffed. "That the Malfoys are adopting you!" she hissed almost urgently.

"Oh. Did that finally get out?" he responded blandly.

"What? Yes! So – wait, it's really true?"

"Well, yes and no – does the article actually say 'adopt'? Because if it does, then no – it's not true."

"So they're _not_ adopting you?" Hermione asked, a glimmer of relief in her tone.

"No, they're not. They're seeking legal guardianship over me. That's not the same as adopting me."

Hermione felt her hope die, along with the expression on her face. With a defeated sigh, she pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. "This can't be happening! Why? How?"

"Because my previous guardian died last summer, and the Ministry's Department for the well-being of children, or whatever, found out. Actually – Dumbledore started this whole mess. I was perfectly fine looking after myself and staying with a couple friends over the summer, but Dumbledore had to go and stick his nose in, where it didn't belong, and petitioned for guardianship over me."

"The Headmaster petitioned for guardianship over you!" Hermione exclaimed, quite loudly, in shock.

"Shhh!" Madam Pince hissed from the far end of the library where she could just barely make enough eye contact to glare at them. Hermione's chest tightened with the horror that any authority figure's disapproval always placed in her and ducked her head, properly cowed. She turned her gaze back on Harry and gave him a beseeching look. Harry sighed.

"Yes, he did. But I had no interest at all in allowing a man, who is the Majority Leader of the Whigs in the House of Lords, gain any sort of controlling interest in the fourteen seats I hold there – which is what would have happened had he succeeded in his petition. So I asked Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy if they'd be willing to petition for my guardianship in opposition to his petition."

"Wait – what? _You asked_ the Malfoy's to petition for custody! And you can't seriously be suggesting that the Headmaster would petition for custody of you just because of your political power, are you?"

"Yes. I am," Harry responded in absolute deadpan and Hermione could only stare at him in confounded shock. "But even if that wasn't his intention, it would still be the result, and it's a result I am simply not okay with."

She couldn't even fathom the Headmaster doing something like this for a reason like _that_ – it was just so far beyond the sorts of things that would have come to mind, for her. She shook her head in disbelief, trying to wrap her mind around such a ridiculous suggestion.

"Look, Hermione," Harry pressed on a moment later, "how often do you think students of this school lose parents or guardians? Not _terribly_ often, but it definitely isn't something that _never_ happens. Especially during the war in the 70's – during that time, loads of students lost their parents and family to raids and battles. Do you think that Albus Dumbledore petitioned for custody of any of them?"

"I – I have no idea," Hermione said, shaking her head somewhat helplessly.

"Well, I do – my solicitor has looked it up. He never petitioned for guardianship of _anyone else – ever. _I'm the first."

"Well – but – surely there's _some_ other reason..."

"Are he and I particularly close, in your knowledge?" Harry asked in that tone he always used when he wanted to lead her towards a conclusion.

Hermione pressed her lips together rather tightly. No... they really weren't close, as far as Hermione knew. She'd never actually seen Harry even speak with the Headmaster, although Harry had mentioned having had meetings with the man once the previous year, and once this year, as well. She didn't know the details, but she didn't think that either of them were particularly pleasant visits, and in both instances, the Headmaster had seemed to be in particularly low spirits afterwards, _for days_.

"No... you're not, as far as I know," Hermione finally answered.

"And you're right. He and I are definitely _not_ close. In fact – I rather dislike him, and I do believe I've made that fact quite clear to him. He knows that I would most certainly _not _prefer to find myself in his custody, and yet he petitioned for it anyway."

Hermione frowned, wanting to interject and ask _why_ Harry wouldn't like Headmaster Dumbledore. She'd never heard of anyone not liking the man, and the idea just seemed outrageous to her, but this was _Harry_, she was speaking to, and who knew if he'd actually answer her question. And if he did, it would probably give her a headache that would last for days. She'd consider asking, later.

"So – with that in mind, what possible reasons can _you_ come up with, for the man to try and gain custody of me?" Harry pressed on, arching a single brow as he looked at her blandly.

Hermione pursed her lips together and tried to think the situation through, given the few facts she knew.

Harry's influence as her friend had resulted in her having kept up on political matters far more than she probably would have been inclined to do, otherwise, as she found politics the ultimate hub of incompetence, corruption, and pandering. But Harry had also made her realize that all these things she had come to learn about the wizarding world that clearly needed changing or, at least, _rethinking_, could only ever be changed or rethought if one went through political means to do so. Hermione also knew that the Headmaster had been having a great deal of trouble, over the last decade, with getting any if his personal legislation passed – both in passing new bills, as well as making revisions and repeals on old ones.

Hermione, personally, found this fairly frustrating since she thought some of those bills would have made great headway in improving muggle-magical relations, and tolerance of, and equal rights for, muggleborn children. But of course, the opposing party, had stalled him at every turn.

When Hermione had expressed her own frustration with some of these discoveries, Harry had only smiled at her with a knowing, mischievousness that always made her wary, because it meant he was about to point out something she wasn't going to like.

Harry had proceeded to inform her that he quite firmly considered himself a Tory – the party in opposition to Dumbledore's Whigs – but that it didn't surprise him at all that Hermione would feel more kinship with the Whigs, and that he wouldn't hold that against her. They'd had a fair number of debates from that point on where Hermione would find something that the Tory party had done that especially frustrated her, bring it up before Harry, and then sit in dumbstruck awe as he managed to make the whole thing sound perfectly logical and reasonable.

He was far too good at that, she realized.

He was going to make an amazing politician some day.

There had already been an article about him in the Daily Prophet's political editorials section, just a month prior, that went over his shockingly noteworthy accomplishments, for someone only in their fourth year at Hogwarts. It mostly discussed his work for Magical Policy magazine, and his academic accomplishments so far at Hogwarts, but also covered his participation in the creation of a peer-reviewed magical study that being conducted, to catalog and compare the magical power levels of various witches and wizards who had all volunteered for the study, in order to demonstrate what effects blood heritage, age at which they started a form of magical education, how they were raised, gender, and age, had on how powerful a person was as an adult.

It was supposed to be the most extensive study of its kind, ever conducted. A large number of purebloods were even participating, willingly, which Hermione found surprising, quite honestly. Supposedly, they were coming forwards in hopes that this study would prove that they were, in fact, correct, and that they really were more powerful than halfbloods and muggleborn, but Hermione already suspected that the article would prove the very opposite thing. These were all intelligent and powerful people, who had come forward to participate, and Hermione didn't think that any of them would be stupid enough to help out a study that could very well prove that everything they believed in, was based on a lie. She couldn't help but wonder what had motivated them to participate in it, so willingly.

Aside from all that, the article had spent a lot of time raving on about how charming, charismatic, and intelligent, Harry was, and that he was going to be a force to be reckoned with, after his graduation from Hogwarts. The author had gone so far as to say she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Harry ended up being Britain's youngest Magical Minister in history!

Hermione wasn't sure what to think – but she didn't think it was all that unlikely an assertion to make.

Harry, clearly, had political aspirations. He had explained the form and function of the Wizengamot's three houses. Two were for legislation – the House of Commons, which was made up of elected officials – and the House of Lords, which was filled out by people who had inherited their position from their parents, who got it from their parents, and so on. The third was the judicial house, were a selection of members with seniority, from the two other houses, would sit in on various important court cases, and pass judgement.

Hermione honestly thought the system was awful and archaic. Most especially since it became obvious to her that the people with the least power and influence were the ones that were actually elected to represent the people. It was hardly a democracy _at all_. It was like there was a thin layer of democracy on top, to try and make it look like the people were being represented and had some say in things, when in reality they weren't, and they didn't.

The people in the House of Lords, were the people with all the power; and the more Seats they'd managed to inherit, the more power they had.

And Harry had the most seats out of anyone else alive. Of course, Harry was the last Potter alive, and still not yet of age, so those fourteen seats had been sitting, unused, for years.

Thinking it over, Hermione could only imagine what sort of headway the Whigs could finally make, if they had a guaranteed fourteen votes, in favor of any legislation they wanted passed. It would be easy sailing for them, and most obviously, for Headmaster Dumbledore. Having a controlling interest over Harry's seats _would_ be a _huge_ boon to anyone in that position, if they were politically minded... which, as she understood it, the Headmaster _was_.

Despite this knowledge, Hermione just couldn't mesh the image she held of the kind, genial, and slightly barmy, old man that was the revered Headmaster of her school, with someone who would seek guardianship of a minor for the sole purpose of using their inherited seats for political gain.

Surely, Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't do something like that?

Right?

"I... I don't know," Hermione finally conceded, after finding that she couldn't quite think of any other explanation. "But I don't know all the facts."

"Well, I do. I also know Albus Dumbledore, quite a bit better than most people do. I can think of several possible motives, but none of the others are any better than this one. Chances are, it was a mixture of several things that finally came together to be strong enough motivation for him to actually move, but gaining control over my votes was definitely part of the equation."

"I – okay, I just don't know enough about the whole thing to make any arguments to that. But that's not even the point – Why the _Malfoys!"_ Hermione asked in an almost pleading tone.

"Why not?" Harry asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest, giving her the sort of look one does when presenting them with a dare.

"Why no– oh, I don't know, because they're dreadful, immoral, and _bigoted_, people?" Hermione said, sarcastically.

"Have you ever actually _met_ Narcissa or Lucius Malfoy?"

"Well, _no_, of course not," Hermione said, rearing back slightly and frowning, "but I've read more than enough about them, and of course, I see their _son_ on a daily basis, and get the pleasure of enduring his wonderful presence," she said sarcastically. "Lucius Malfoy may donate money to widows and orphans and to St. Mungo's, but you'd have to be a fool not to see that's all just for publicity to make up for the awful legislation he's always pushing for. He's a hateful bigot, and a power-hungry panderer. And from the society columns in the Prophet, it's obvious what sort of circles Narcissa Malfoy travels in."

"So you're basing your opinion on them, on what the _Prophet_ says?" Harry asked with a pointed look.

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt herself flush and shrink into her chair with a grimace plastered on her face. Harry _did_ have a point with that. They'd discussed on numerous occasions that the Daily Prophet was hardly a reliable source of information, and Hermione _knew_ that their reporters tended to stretch the truth, and outright lie for the sake of entertaining their readers.

She gave a defeated sigh and then gave Harry a flat look. "So, are you going to argue that they're really kind, decent, _good_, people, and I shouldn't be worried about you going into the custody of a man, once accused of being a loyal Death Eater, murderer, and rapist?"

"Lucius was not a rapist," Harry said quite firmly.

Hermione raised a single eyebrow in silent question to the _other_ two labels she'd pointed out.

Harry just gave her an unapologetic smirk and shrugged.

"Urgh!" Hermione huffed in frustration, throwing her hands up before falling back into her seat. "How can you be okay with this!"

"It was my idea in the first place," Harry said easily. "Lucius has the most to gain from cooperating with me and giving me precisely what I want."

"How so?" Hermione said, sitting up straighter and frowning in confusion.

"As you know, I'm a Tory. I have fourteen seats that have held no party designation for a great many years. Once my seats are designated Tory, the Tory party will hold the majority in the House of Lords. At that point, the person who is the Tory leader – namely Lucius – will become the new Majority leader, and take over the position presently held by one, Albus Dumbledore. So if I am able to designate my seats under my party affiliation, Lucius becomes the head of the House of Lords. He wins. It doesn't matter how I want my votes actually used on specific legislation, he still benefits, just from my seats being active. So even if he and I might disagree on specific legislation, it's in his best interest to vote my seats the way I want them voted, to keep me happy. If he pisses me off, I will still hold the power to set the party affiliation my seats hold. I can take his House Leadership away from him by switching those to no party affiliation, which would put the Whigs back in majority. If he wants to keep his new position, he will want to keep me happy. And he wants it – very badly."

Hermione nodded her head very slowly, following along with all that Harry was saying. Finally she closed her eyes, sighed very slowly, and then looked at him.

"I hate politics."

Harry grinned quiet widely. "I know you do."

"Why is it so hard for people to just _do the right thing?_ Why does everything have to be so underhanded? Why is it always a competition between which _side _is winning? Why can't we just do what's the right thing for the people?"

"Ah – but, Hermione – the 'right thing' is a very objective issue. One man's 'right thing' can differ quite drastically from another man's."

"There are some things that – that... it's just not – I don't know! Honorable! Whatever happened to personal honor? Or just common decency! Isn't _honor_ supposed to mean something in wizarding society?" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry chuckled, grinning mischievously. "_Every one admits how praiseworthy it is in a prince to live with honor, and to live with integrity and not with craft. Nevertheless our experience has been that those princes who have done great things have held honor of little account, and have known how to circumvent the intellect of men by craft, and in the end have overcome those who have relied on their word."_

Hermione looked at Harry with a nearly horrified expression on her face. "_The Prince_ by Niccolò Machiavelli? Harry Potter, you can't honestly follow that sort of philosophy!" she exclaimed.

Harry laughed softly, grinning ever widely. "Not just _The Prince_, but _The Discourses_ as well And the Art of War. After all, his treatise _The Prince_ made his name synonymous with autocratic ruthlessness and cynical manipulation, but The Discourses shows a radically different outlook on the world of politics. Both equally valid, and both appeal to me because of the man's practical and scientific approach to people, and ruling them."

Hermione stared at him with lips parted in something of a surprised expression for a moment. "You really intend to become Minister someday, don't you?" Hermione finally said, more than asked, as she leaned back in her chair and cocked her head slightly to the side, as if seeing Harry in a new light, for the first time.

"Is that really such a surprise?

"You're fourteen - don't you think that aiming for the highest position in wizarding Britain's government is just a tad ambitious, so early on?"

Harry grinned a cheshire-cat grin. "I'm a Slytherin. We're all about great ambition and cunning. The greatest Slytherins are the most ambitious ones! And actually, a slight correction is probably in order. I think it's more likely that I'll be Undersecretary to the Minister, rather than actually aiming for the position of Minister, itself."

"What? Why? Why aim for _Undersecretary? _ That seems a bit odd to me. I mean, if you're going so far as to aim that high anyway, why stop there?"

Harry shrugged, giving her something of a smirk and leaving that horribly frustrated clenching in her stomach that she always got whenever she realized he'd just dangled some curiosity out before her face, and was now going to refuse to tell her anything more.

She growled in frustration and threw her arms up over her head for a moment before leveling her gaze back on him. "I still think that you're crazy for this whole custody thing. You can't let the Malfoy's get custody over you just because of some convoluted political manipulation scheme. It just sounds awful. What if they're horrible people and they take advantage of you?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "They're not. I've stayed with them the last two winter breaks, if you'll recall. They're actually very polite people, when you're on their good side. They just have very strict standards for how to discern who to let into their 'good side' and treat the people on their 'bad side' drastically different."

"And you're really okay being associated with people like that?"

"Hermione – what sort of person, exactly, do you think _I _am?"

"Well, you're hardly _cruel,_" she argued. "You wouldn't start a war or, or – _murder_ someone in an attempt to overthrow the government through terrorist activities!"

"Are you really so sure?" Harry asked, arching his brows in pointed question.

She flinched slightly, hesitating for a moment before determination resettled upon her face.

"_I know you_, and in the end, I know that what you really want is what's best for the people. You want, what's best for the realm as a whole, not just what's popular with one political party or the other. If you were the sort to just vote along party lines, you never would have written that article on blood purity and inbreeding!"

"And what if I thought it was in the best interest of Britain's magical world for the Ministry to be overthrown completely, and replaced with something else? Do you not think it possible that I could then participate in a revolution? Maybe even partake in terrorist subterfuge If I believed in it strongly enough?"

Hermione frowned, stirring that question around in her mind for a moment before answering. "I think that you'd find a better way to do it, than something as messy and disruptive as a big, violent, rebellion. You'd use that Slytherin cunning of yours to overthrow the Ministry... from... within..."

Harry's smile was the widest Hermione thought she'd ever seen it, and he brought his hands up and slow-clapped for several moments while she sat there, feeling rather stunned by the revelation dancing through her mind.

"Bravo, Hermione dear. You seem to have hit the proverbial nail on the head."

"And you've got fourteen seats in the Wizengamot," Hermione whispered.

"That I do."

"You would have had to wait two more years before you could access them, before, but now you'll be able to access them as soon as the Malfoy's gain custody of you."

"Correct, again."

"How long has the custody petition been going on?"

"Since January."

"January! You mean this has been going on for four whole months!"

"And the proceedings are almost all finished. The final verdict will be delivered early-May, so it shouldn't be too much longer now."

"This has been going on for _this long_, and this is the first I've even heard of it!" Hermione went on, forgetting herself and allowing her voice to raise louder than she normally would have, in the sanctity of the Library.

Harry chuckled and shrugged, unapologetically.

"Of course, _Granger_," a voice drawled sneeringly from behind her and almost instantly drew a cold glare upon Hermione's features. "We in _Slytherin House_ understand the importance of discretion and secrecy."

Hermione turned in her chair and glared daggers at the snooty blond standing behind her with his nose in the air and a look of utter disdain on his features.

"Malfoy," she greeted coldly.

"Harry," Malfoy went on, shifting his gaze onto Harry instead, "weren't we going to work on that arithmancy paper?"

"Sure," Harry replied easily before glancing over at Hermione. "You're in Professor Vector's second arithmancy section, so you should have gotten assigned that essay on Eastern Numeratics versus Western Systems today, right? Would you like to join us while we work on it?"

Hermione bristled at the thought of spending a study session in _Malfoy's_ company as she had tremendous difficulty just being in the same room with the obnoxious, self-righteous little prick. A quick glance over at the blond showed his equal horror by the mere idea, but Hermione had realized that he was far too wrapped around Harry's little finger to ever object to something that Harry had proposed like that. She was tempted, for just a moment, to join them, just to spite Malfoy for the awful things he'd said to her and Neville just the week prior, but she'd be punishing herself as well, so she lied.

"I already finished it," she replied, tilting her chin up slightly.

"Already?" Malfoy scoffed incredulously. "Great, Merlin, Granger, you really have no life at all, do you?"

"I simply appreciate the value of _working hard_ and actually _earning_ what I get," Hermione snapped back haughtily.

Malfoy's lip curled up and he got that look of utter disregard and disgust on his face that Hermione had come to associate with the sorts of expression a person would hold when looking down on an especially disgusting pile of festering, rotting meat, covered in maggots. "Some of us are just more _naturally_ talented and inclined towards greatness. We don't _need_ to work so hard to accomplish as much because we're just _better_ than other people."

"_Draco_," Harry said in a mildly warning tone and giving the blond a slightly pointed look. "What have I said about picking fights with Hermione?"

Malfoy made something of a frustrated huff and crossed his arms over his chest in a way that reminded Hermione of a child who had just been denied a treat and scolded by their mother.

"To not do it whenever you're around," Malfoy drawled, sounding bored and slightly annoyed.

Hermione felt herself bristle a bit at that insinuation. The idea that Harry had told Malfoy not to pick fights with her _when Harry was around_, but nothing about just _not doing it at all_... she didn't like something about that, but she supposed that it was hardly Harry's job to hold Malfoy's leash. Not like Malfoy would listen anyway, even if he had told Malfoy not to be a prick. It was in the boy's nature. It was who he was. He was just fundamentally a monumental arsehole.

Hermione still couldn't wrap her mind around Harry associating with the blond teen. Harry insisted that he was a vastly different person when it was just the two of them, or when they were around other people that Draco considered 'worthy' of his respect, but Hermione had trouble imagining Draco Malfoy changing _that much_. It would have to be a pretty drastic change from the way he treated Hermione and virtually every other student in the school, for the boy to be even mildly tolerable.

"Come on, Harry," Malfoy started to drawl in a bit of a whiny tone, "we don't _need_ to be in the library to work on this. All of the information is in our text books. Let's go back to the Slytherin Common Room." He turned his head and sneered at Hermione again, "Better company."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she intensified her glare at the blond snob, wishing she could hex him with her stare alone.

"The common room is too noisy and distracting," Harry said with a sigh. "I'd rather not, honestly."

"I'm leaving anyway," Hermione said quickly. "Like I said – I already finished my paper. You'd may as well stay here. I'll see you later, Harry."

Harry nodded his head at her with a face vacant of any readable expressions. "Alright. Later, Hermione."

Hermione gathered up her bag and slung it over her shoulder as she turned and quickly began to walk out of the library. Malfoy sneered at her the whole way, and she glared right back until she rounded a corner and was no longer within sight of the two boys.

– –

_A strong pair of hands suddenly grabbed a tight hold around each of his wrists and thrust them over his head as he was pushed, bodily against the cold, smooth surface of the marble wall behind him. A gasp escaped his lips and he felt the searing heat of Elias as he pressed __against his chest. The tunic and surcoat he wore suddenly felt shockingly thin, as if he were wearing nothing more than peasant linens, and his breath came in shallow pants as he was suddenly and wonderfully overwhelmed with the sense of being utterly held against his will._

_Elias suddenly seemed to tower over him, although he could have sworn that the man were no taller than himself the last time he'd paid attention. The man smirked that obscene crooked smirk that sent his lower stomach all a flutter like those ridiculous girls that twittered and giggled in the court halls while the Lords passed through between meetings._

_This man – this low-born man with no title and no political standing at all, had him pinned against the wall in the Touring Corridor, mere yards from the Thrown Room and rather than calling out for his personal guard, all he wanted to do was submit, utterly. He could feel his entire body screaming to give in. Screaming for this man to hold him tighter. To over-power him and take away control from him – take away the responsibility from him._

_Elias leaned in further as he pulled Leon's wrists together and switched it so that one of his powerful hands was holding both of Leon's hands, and then moved his now-free hand further down – trailing down one arm with teasing-light touches before shifting over to Leon's face to cup the side of his jaw and neck. _

_Leon sucked in a small gasp and raised his chin, instinctively baring his neck to the other man and feeling a quiver of need shoot down his spine._

_Elias pressed his thumb against Leon's Adam's apple, with just enough pressure to send another sharp jolt of shocked arousal through Leon's system, while the man's fingers dug into the back of his neck, at the base of his hair line._

"_Why, good evening my Grace," Elias whispered huskily into Leon's ear, and the warm breath that he felt pass over his cheek and ear sent another shiver through his senses. He could feel his flesh rise with goose-pimples and the hairs on his arms stand at end. His body melted against the cold marble wall and he could feel his breath coming in shallow pants._

_Gods be good – he wanted this. He wanted this over-powering sensation of being dominated by someone else; of giving up all roles and responsibilities outside of submitting to the whim of this one man. He wanted to give in to it. To turn a blind eye to the rest of the world where everyone turned to him to have all the answers and solve all the problems. _

_He ruled this country and yet he wanted nothing more than to submit to this low-born man – _

_Elias pressed his thigh between Leon's legs, and Leon gasped and then moaned at the strong muscled leg pressing against him._

"_Why, my Grace," Elias said in a husky, playful tone, "I dare say you might be enjoying this?"_

"_Elias –" Leon whimpered. "I –"_

Marvolo looked up as he felt his wards shift with the arrival of someone who had been keyed in as an approved visitor. A moment later a quiet pop echoed through the otherwise quiet room and his personal house elf stood before him, looking up at him with those outrageously oversized eyes, and a rather uncanny amount of admiration and worship shining in them.

"Lord Master Veras, sir, Lord Malfoy has come to pay you a visit," the little elf squeaked reverently.

"Show him in," Marvolo drawled easily as he closed Harry's manuscript and slid it into the center drawer of his desk before shifting in his chair so he more properly could face the door.

The elf popped away and a moment later he could feel the various wards around his manor home alerting him to the passage of the pair through the hallway. The door was opened by the little wrinkled elf who bowed low and made a sweeping motion with its arm to gesture Lucius inside. Lucius, as always, held himself with proper grace and all the pompous self-indulgence the man believed he deserved. He didn't even bother to grace a look at the elf, not the Marvolo would ever expect him to.

"Does Master wish for Milly to bring refreshments?" the elf asked eagerly.

"That will not be necessary. Leave us."

"Yes Master," the elf said instantly and gave several more low bows as it backed out of the room and closed the door with a snap of it's fingers. "Lucius – sit," Marvolo said with a casual gesture of his hand towards one of the chairs opposite his desk.

Lucius gave him a quick but appropriately low bow, "My Lord," he intoned before standing back up and moving forward to take his seat.

"You have something to report, I take it?" Marvolo asked, arching a single brow in expectation as he laced his fingers together on his desk in front of him.

Lucius' face produced a smug little smirk and he sat up straighter. "I didn't want to waste any time in delivering the good news. Narcissa and I just received word – our petition for Potter's guardianship has won. He is now, officially, and legally, a ward of the Malfoy family."

Marvolo sat back in his chair and felt a pleased grin spread across his own lips. "That _is_ good news, indeed. Hardly an unforeseen conclusion, but it is most definitely good to hear that Dumbledore's last ditch efforts to postpone the decision have been unsuccessful. It would have been most bothersome if he had managed to postpone the decision beyond the beginning of the summer session of the Wizengamot."

"No doubt that was his aim, but his efforts have proved for naught," Lucius added, still smirking ever-smugly. "The end of term is in three weeks. Potter has already had the papers drawn up by his solicitors to grant me permission, as his guardian to sit his seats and place votes against them, until he reaches the age of majority. As soon as he and Draco have arrived in London, off the Hogwarts Express, Potter and I will travel to the Ministry to officially designate his seats along Tory party lines, since he must do that in person."

"And –" Marvolo drawled, continuing Lucius' unspoken thought, "once _that_ is done, Dumbledore will officially lose his position as leader of the Majority party." Marvolo felt his insides dance with glee at the prospect, and the gleam in Lucius' eye showed he was equally thrilled. No doubt, in his case, it was both from the prospect of gaining the position of leadership himself, as well as with the prospect of stripping said power from Dumbledore. "Very good, Lucius. Things have come together quite nicely."

"Thank you, my Lord," Lucius said with a slight incline of his head, while the accomplished smirk never left his lips.

"Yes, well, while I do approve of your prompt delivery of the news, I _was_ in the middle of something. Was there anything else you wished to discuss that cannot wait until our meeting tomorrow?"

"Not at all, my Lord. I will leave you to your work," Lucius said pushing himself out of his chair and bowing low, once again.

"Good day, Lucius," Marvolo said with a dismissive incline of his head.

"My Lord," Lucius echoed once again before turning and exiting the room.

Marvolo sat in his seat for a few moments longer as he mentally followed the ward alerts that went off as Lucius traveled through the halls to the apparition chamber, followed by the sense that Lucius had finally left the manor entirely.

The small smile was still playing on his lips as he pondered just how well things were coming together these last few months, and how eager he was truly beginning to feel in anticipation of the coming summer.

Finally his eyes traveled down onto the center desk drawer and he reached down to pull it open once more. Inside lay the bound collection of parchment papers that was the first novel-length composition of Harry's that he'd managed to convince the man to send him. Marvolo had already been enjoying the numerous short-'drabbles' as Harry tended to call them, but he'd gotten the impression that Harry's talent lie in longer fiction. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to finally get the man over his uncharacteristic embarrassment and finally agree to give Marvolo a copy of this one story.

It was actually quite _amusing_ just how easy Harry was to rile up on this subject. It was shocking that the man could have lived as long as he had, and no doubt done a great many provocative things – not to mention actually _write_ the racy things he wrote – and yet still be so self-conscious and embarrassed when it came to letting anyone else actually _read_ it.

He chuckled under his breath as he pulled it out from the drawer and leaned back in his chair, bringing one leg up over the other knee and flipping the manuscript open to where he'd left off before.

– –

Minerva McGonagall raised her head at the light rapping at her office door and placed her grading quill down before calling out, "Come in."

The door opened and she was greeted with a rather unexpected sight – Harry Potter. She couldn't recall a single occurrence of Harry coming to visit her without being summoned first, and she'd only ever asked him to come for tea and biscuits back when he was a mere first year, and Albus had so desperately asked her to try and gain the poor boy's confidences.

After it had become blatantly obvious that her efforts were getting her nowhere and were honestly rather unwelcome, she'd stopped pushing the boy and simply made it known that, should he ever want to come visit her, her door was always open to him.

He had, however, never taken advantage of that offer before now. Not even when it was Minerva's own Gryffindors who, she reluctantly acknowledged, were the ones most responsible for giving the poor boy so much grief. She'd suspected in the beginning that Harry simply refused to rat on his peers for their bullying, but as the years had passed, and she'd been witness to more and more incidences, she was slowly coming to believe that the teen had a shockingly thick skin, or somehow, just _didn't care_ what his peers thought of him – which was rare in a teenager, in Minerva's experience. It was like the taunts of children to someone far removed from their world, so they couldn't really touch him.

And, perhaps... that really was the case; especially if the boy truly were a _Seer_ as Sirius had claimed back in February. Even now – _months later – _she wasn't entirely sure what to think or feel about that. It certainly lay a whole knew light on the boy and his actions.

She'd watched for signs of his 'gift' in classes, but the boy had always shown a truly abnormal talent in Transfiguration for a child. They'd been calling him a 'prodigy' since his first week _here_, for Merlin's sake, and with just cause. Now she wondered how much of his incredibly advanced skill in his various subjects was somehow the result of his 'Sight' or not. It was rather hard to say what sort of effect such an ability would have on a wizard's other skillsets, since it was such a rare and unknown sort of talent.

"Mr. Potter, what a surprise. To what do I owe this visit?" Minerva asked sitting straighter in her stiff-backed chair and looking at him with prim-expectation.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Harry greeted her as he pushed forward into the classroom and the door closed gently behind him with no obvious indication of how or why. "I was hoping we could discuss a few academic matters. Do you have some free time right now?"

"Yes, of course. Have a seat," Minerva said, gesturing towards the chair opposite her desk.

Once Harry had gotten himself situated, sitting quite properly in the stiff-backed chair, he pinned her with his emerald-green gaze. "I wanted to inform you that I intend to take the OWL exams, the third week of June at the Ministry. I've already registered with them, but the Ministry examinations office sent me a letter today saying that I also have the option of taking them here, at the school, when the examiners come for the fifth year students, so long as I gain permission from you."

"Your OWLs?" Minerva echoed, somewhat shocked at first, but not so much a moment later when she actually let herself consider what he'd just said. Honestly, she was almost surprised the boy hadn't tried to test out of certain subjects sooner, since she had no doubt he could have.

"Yes," Harry went on simply, "the only reason I've waited as long as I have is because the Ministry won't allow anyone below the age of fourteen take the tests, and when the tests were being offered last summer, I was still thirteen. By the time I turned fourteen, it was already too late."

Minerva blinked but then give him a curt nod. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this. I rather doubt, given your academic performance, that you would find them overly challenging."

"No, I rather doubt I will either. So do I have your permission to sit in with the fifth years for the OWL exams? It would mean missing my end-of-year exams for my fourth year classes," Harry pressed on.

Minerva nodded her head slowly, pondering the issue for a moment. She knew that none of Harry's professors would oppose this, even with him missing their exams, but she wondered if Albus might find some reason to object to it. She couldn't quite see anything worthwhile coming from him objecting, however. If they, for some reason, refused to allow Harry to sit his OWLs now, he would simply sit them in a few weeks time at the Ministry.

"I will speak with your other professors on the matter, but I cannot foresee any problems arising from the request," Minerva said finally, deciding that Albus could just go suck a lemon, if he decided to find some cause to object to it. She was Deputy-Headmistress, and these matters were her jurisdiction. If it were any other student, he would never bother to stick his nose into such matters.

Harry graced her with a very small smile. "Thank you, I appreciate it. This does, of course, bring up the subsequent issue of my classes for next year."

"Hmm, yes, it does. I suppose it truly would be rather pointless – assuming, of course that you pass all of your OWL exams – to leave you in with the other fifth years who will all be prepping for tests you have already taken. It isn't done often, but there is precedent for having you attend your classes with a grade higher."

"Actually, Professor, I was hoping that I could move up to attend classes with the seventh years," Harry said, cutting in.

"The seventh years?" she echoed, slightly surprised.

"Yes. I intend to take my NEWT exams next spring, so it would be ideal if I could be attending the classes specifically working towards prep for those tests. It would also allow me to actually 'graduate' from Hogwarts. If I attended sixth year, and then took my NEWTs during the summer at the Ministry, I would never officially 'graduate'. I would simply, not return for my seventh year. It's not terribly important – mostly just a technicality, but it would mean something to me."

"You wish to skip ahead _two_ grades?" Minerva asked, just to be sure she was really understanding correctly.

"That's right."

"Well, _this_ is unusual. I'm afraid I cannot make any guarantees..."

"Could I possibly take placement exams? Or perhaps, after I've sat my OWL exams next week, I could meet with the professors after hours and sit their sixth year's tests to prove I know the material."

Minerva blinked at him several times. It was one thing to have a rather shockingly prodigious skill in subjects beyond his years, but it was another thing to actually be prepared to sit the _exams_ for classes you hadn't yet taken.

"I suppose it could be arranged with the professors to allow you to take the same tests the sixth years are taking..." Minerva said slowly, "But I am not sure how –"

"I'm quite confident I will pass," Harry said, cutting her off. "I've prepared as much for them as I feel is necessary."

Minerva hesitated for a moment before pressing her lips together and giving him a curt nod. "I will speak to your professors about taking the sixth year exams. _If _you can pass them, then I can see no valid reason to deny your request and you will be enrolled in the same classes as the seventh year students for next fall."

He gave her a curt nod of his head and a very small smile. "Thank you, Professor. I appreciate you taking my request seriously." With that, he stood up from the stiff-backed chair and extended his hand. Minerva was caught momentarily off guard by the gesture – it was hardly common for the younger children to _shake her hand_ after a meeting – meetings with alumni were another matter, and sometimes even the seventh years would get it into their heads to take a more formal approach when discussing career services topics, or internship placements, but she hardly expected such a gesture from a _fourth year_.

But then again, Harry Potter was nothing, if not surprising.

She stood from her own seat and reached out to accept his hand. He gave her a quick, firm shake and a nod of his head.

"Thank you again, Professor," he said politely.

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," she said back, and with that, he turned and left her office.

She sat back down and wondered if she would _ever_ understand that boy. Finally she sighed, giving it up as a bad job, and set to writing a note to a few of Harry's other professors about Harry's request to sit the sixth-year class exams.

– – –

AN: Fwew... Took me longer to get this one out because I had family visiting all last week for the fourth of July and hardly had time to even look at my laptop, let alone write.

As a continuation of the self-promotion from the last chapter's author note – the iOS game that my husband and his friend, and I, worked on is now also available on Android! I had several of you say in reviews that you'd give it a shot if it were on the android store, and now it is! Since it just went up, it's on sale for the next week, I believe.

www. pushypixels. com

Anyway, go there. It's called Proton Pulse and is the first link available. All important links to various stores and the trailer and whatever, are easily found there.

Aaaand, in other news, check out my tumblr for pictures of a Zelda Halloween costume I'm making for my 6 yr old daughter. It's coming out awesome. :D

aya-macchiato. tumblr. com


	19. Chapter 19

AN: This chapter took FOREVER to get out. Mostly because I had so much trouble finding time to write. It was so frustrating. The last two weeks have been overly-full with things to do and responsibilites to attend to.

– –

_It is of great importance whether a youth in his tender years hears any act praised or censured; this necessarily makes a lasting impression upon his mind, and becomes afterwards the rule of his life for all time. _

_Niccolo Machiavelli_

– –

"Absolutely astounding!" the familiar voice of Professor Felix Hughes, an old friend and one of the visiting wizards from the Examinations Authority, rang out from the half-open door to Minerva's office.

Albus poked his head around the door and smiled benignly at the two of them – Minerva, of course, noticed him first, since she was sitting behind her desk and facing the door. Felix, having noticed her gaze turned to look over his shoulder and beamed enthusiastically.

"Albus! Fantastic timing! We were just about to have tea! Come! Join us!

"Oh, I would hate to intrude," Albus hedged but Felix waved his concerns away with a gesture of his hand, and beckoned him to the vacant seat beside him.

"Ah, Albus, Minerva – I have had _quite_ a day! Quite a day indeed!" Felix went on, still sounding tremendously enthusiastic.

"You're not usually nearly so excited after a day full of conducting exams," Minerva observed with a slightly amused, but primly arched brow in his direction.

"True, true, but I do not usually have a first day of exams anything like today!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Really? And what has made today so exceptional?" Albus asked as he waved his wand summoning a tea cup from the tea service on Minerva's desk.

Felix leaned forward in his seat, his eyes alight with delight. "Harry Potter!"

Albus's bushy white brows rose into his forehead and his eyes widened, while Minerva got a look of understanding and a small smile curved her lips as she brought her own tea cup up.

"Harry Potter?" Albus asked, airily.

"Oh yes. _Harry Potter!_ Of course I knew he'd be taking the exams today. We had all been very excited ever since we first received his application for early testing. I mean – we've _all_ heard the _stories_ about him. And I don't think there's a single witch or wizard in the Ministry that doesn't carry a subscription to MP magazine – so we've all seen his writing. The boy has gained himself quite a name for himself – _and he's so young!_ But I never could have _dreamed_ it would be like this!"

"Like _what_, Felix?" Minerva asked, both bemused and slightly bewildered.

"Well, he's terribly intelligent, but anyone could gather that from his writing. It's his spellwork that astounded me today! I hadn't even heard he could perform without his wand! Never imagined it! I dare say he's the first student out of Hogwarts I've encountered with even the slightest indication of wandless talent since I started administering these tests over thirty-six years ago!"

"Wandless!" Minerva exclaimed as Albus's eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. His hand even shook slightly, and he reached over to set his tea cup on the edge of Minerva's desk.

Felix blinked several times, apparently perplexed by their responses. "Surely you can't tell me that you _didn't know!"_

"I – I had no idea he could perform _wandless_ magic at all," Minerva said, somewhat flabbergasted. "Four years of him being in my class and I've never once seen him perform magic without his wand."

"Are you _sure_, Felix? What... what sorts of spells did he perform, _exactly?_" Albus asked warily.

"Why, nearly everything! I was shocked! Its so difficult to get any child to demonstrate the skill during the tests, since they're taught from early childhood by their parents to keep it a secret – after all, the only way to learn such a talent is to start _very early_, and teaching your children magic at such an early age is _illegal_. If your caught by the Ministry, there's quite a hefty fine – sometimes even _jail time_ – can you believe it? Such nonsense... Personally, I find it marvelous, although I know not everyone would agree with me. But I digress – whenever I do manage to convince the children I test to trust me enough to show me what they can do, its usually only the simpler spells that they can manage without a wand. The majority of the practical examinations still have to be performed with a wand. That's just the way it is! Complex spells require a lot more focus and power behind them, and it's rare to come across a child who can pull off any spells of even _mild_ complexity without the aid of a wand. But Mr. Potter – good heavens, I've just never seen anything like it!"

"You make it sound as if you encounter wandless magic regularly!" Minerva exclaimed.

"But, _of course!_ It's always been that way, though – hasn't it? There's always at least _one_ a year. Only ever during the summer exams, though. As I said, I've never run into anyone actually attending Hogwarts who showed any skill in it. But you know how it is – there's always some families that want to raise their children in the _olde ways_, and choose to ignore the Ministry's mandates. They also tend to be the same ones who don't want to send their children to Hogwarts.

"They're fewer and fewer of them, these days – or at least they're harder to spot. Have been since the end of the war, of course. During the war they weren't nearly so afraid of coming out into the open. They were all hopeful that the Ministry was too busy dealing with murderous madmen to care about a few parents who wanted to follow some old traditions. Of course once, You-Know-Who was gone and the Ministry really started cracking down on them and they all went silent."

"I – I'd never heard of any supposed correlation between the families that chose not to send their children to Hogwarts and a skill in _wandless_ magic," Minerva said, somewhat stunned.

"Well, its because they start teaching them so much younger! But, obviously, they aren't_ all _doing this. If they were, I'm sure I'd see quite a lot more examples of wandless magic during the summer exams. It's really just a small group, but I've certainly seen enough of it to have seen the correlation. You... you really didn't know?" he asked, clearly flabbergasted by the prospect as he looked between Albus and Minerva. Minerva looked honestly stunned, but Albus' expression wasn't nearly so easy to read.

"Albus?" Minerva asked, cautiously when she finally noticed his reaction.

"Ah, yes, well I _am_ aware of the correlation between studying olde magics at a very young age, and a propensity for wandless control, however I was honestly not aware that there were enough people still practicing such traditions that you were finding students with the talent each year," Albus said, sounding somewhat grave.

Felix hesitated, looking mildly worried for a moment before pressing on. "Oh, well, like I said, it's harder and harder to spot any. Especially over the last fourteen years. I hardly see them anymore these days. I suppose that was one of the reasons that Mr. Potter impressed me so."

"But you think they're there – they're just hiding," Albus said, giving him a pointed look.

Felix fidgeted for a moment before smiling weakly, "Ah, well... yes, I suppose so. Mr. Potter was the first I've encountered in... well _ever_, I suppose, that was so carefree with his demonstration of it for me. He didn't hesitate for even a moment. Actually, he asked _me_ if I wouldn't mind him performing some of the exam spells _without_ his wand! I have to say I was both shocked and quite thrilled."

Minerva frowned in confusion. "Why would he do that? He's obviously kept it hidden from _us_ all these years, so why suddenly come out and show a Ministry examiner?" She turned her confused and curious gaze on Albus, who was frowning in deep concern.

"That, my dear, is a very good question."

– –

"Where were you!" Hermione exclaimed as she intercepted Harry a moment after he entered the Great Hall that evening.

"I'd like to know the answer to that, myself," Draco drawled as he suddenly appeared next to Harry, from the Slytherin table. His eyes were narrowed and suspicious.

Harry blinked at them with innocent confusion. "Where was I, when?"

"During our exams! You didn't show up!" Hermione exclaimed in horror. "You weren't in Potions _or_ History, and Terry Boot said you were in Charms either!"

"Oh – I got a pass on those," Harry said dismissively as he began to walk around them towards the Slytherin table. Draco stayed in step with him, not taking his narrowed eyes off the dark-haired wizard while Hermione frowned and gaped for a moment before quickly jogging to catch up and followed them to the table of green and silver, totally ignoring all of the glares she got as she approached it.

"A pass? What do you mean! How could you have gotten a _pass_ on taking your exams?" Hermione pressed on.

"And why didn't you _tell me?_" Draco added, looking entirely annoyed and even slightly hurt. Harry frowned and his brow furrowed slightly at Draco's expression – it was more emotion than the blond would normally let show on his face in such a public venue.

"It just didn't come up," Harry said with a shrug.

"Didn't come up!" Hermione practically shrieked. "Harry, we've been revising for our end-of-year exams for weeks! How could it _not have come up!"_

"No, Hermione – _you've_ been revising for weeks. I was sitting in the library attending to my own work," Harry said pointedly.

She huffed and folded her arms over her chest defiantly as Harry sat down along one of the benches and Draco slid into place beside him with a casual grace that only barely masked the way his jaw was clenched and his hands were pulled into tight fists.

"How long ago, exactly, did you get this _pass_ from our exams," Draco asked in a clipped tone of faked indifference.

"Oh, I guess it was two weeks ago that I made the final arrangements with McGonagall," Harry said, again with bored indifference.

"_Two weeks!"_ Hermione exclaimed over Harry's shoulder.

Harry glanced over out of the corner of his eye and saw Draco's expression harden further, and his knuckled go white.

"But _why?_ And how! Why do you not have to take your exams?" Hermione asked. They'd drawn quite a bit of attention, and pretty much everyone that was sitting at the Slytherin table was looking at them, either openly, or with attempted subtlety.

Harry heaved a sigh and twisted around on the bench so he was angled towards Draco and Hermione behind them. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick localized muffling spell and could see the frustration and disappointment on the faces of many of the surrounding students as they realized what he'd done, and reluctantly went back to their own meals.

"I'm sitting my OWL exams with the fifth years instead," Harry answered.

Draco's head jerked up and his face went slack.

"You're what?" he said in a hushed voice.

"I'm sitting my OWLs early," Harry repeated. "I'm also being allowed, by Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall, Lupin, and Sprout, to sit their sixth year exams in the evenings this week to prove I know the material already so that next September, I can begin classes with... the _Seventh_ years."

Hermione seemed to stagger slightly on her feet, as stunned as she was by this news.

"You're skipping ahead _two years?_" she whispered in stunned disbelief.

"Yes," Harry said.

"You won't be in classes with us next year?" she continued, still in a hushed tone.

"No. I won't. I'll be sitting my classes with the other students who are prepping for their NEWT exams, since that's what I'll be taking at the end of the year," Harry answered calmly.

"And you didn't see fit to tell me?" Draco asked, and his voice was cold and hard. Harry looked over at him, expecting anger, but faltered slightly when he saw legitimate hurt there, instead.

Harry paused a moment before sighing heavily. "Look, Draco... I... I'm sorry. I really am. But you know what I'm involved in. I _can't stay here_. One year is the most I can afford to stick around. I just have too many things that I need to be doing, and I can't do them very well from school. If I could get a NEWT accreditation without waiting a whole 'nother school year, I'd be doing that too, and this would be it for me."

"You can't be serious!" Hermione gasped, but Harry wasn't looking at her anymore, and Draco seemed to have decided to pretend she didn't exist.

"But why didn't you _tell me?"_ Draco pressed and his voice wavered slightly.

Harry huffed out a frustrated breath and looked away for a moment before looking back. He knew he could make up a lie, and spare the blond some hurt, but Harry felt the boy deserved more than that. "Honestly, Draco? It just didn't occur to me," he replied in an unapologetic tone. "I've been busy. You know how I get. You know better than most."

Harry could see Draco's jaw flexing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, and his eyes blinked faster than normal as he fought to maintain control of his expression.

"I don't factor into your plans at all, do I?" Draco asked in a quiet, emotionless tone.

"I plan to spend time with you this summer," Harry offered up, but grimaced at how pathetic a contribution to the topic that was.

Draco snorted coldly. "You intend to spend more time with _Him_ this summer, than me," he said bitterly.

Harry's expression shifted slightly as frustration and annoyance began to win out over guilt. "Yes. I do," he said, somewhat harshly. "I have work to do, Draco. You know this."

"No I don't. I don't know _anything._ Because _you don't tell me anything,' _Draco snapped back, angrily.

"Blood hell, Draco – I've told you a damn sight more than I've told any other kids at this school!

"But I'm not just _some other kid_ at this school!" Draco exclaimed. "I thought I was more to you than that!"

Harry growled in frustration. "The only person in this whole ruddy school who has more dirt on me than _you_ is Professor Snape and I have him under a secrecy contract that would _kill him_ if he told anyone anything! You can't get pissy over me having to keep some secrets from you when I've been more open with you than anyone else here!"

Draco came up short at that and the expression on his face was one that Harry couldn't quite make sense of.

"Is that really true?" he asked in an almost whisper.

"Huh?" Harry faltered, a bit thrown off by Draco's sudden shift in demeanor.

The slightest indication of relief made its way onto Draco's face and his lips curled into a hesitant smile. Harry frowned, feeling even more bewildered now than before.

"You _trust me_ more than you trust anyone else, here," Draco said, looking back up at Harry with more confidence now, in his sudden declaration.

Harry hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes. I do."

"You've got that silly secrecy contract that you made all of us sign, but it's hardly _that_ binding. I could break it – _any_ of us could – and it would really only be a temporary discomfort. You'd never tell someone anything _really_ important with only _that_ as a safeguard, if you didn't trust them still. And you haven't told any of our other roommates nearly the same things you've shared with me. Plus, you've told me things outside of the dorm room, so there's loads of things we've shared that aren't even covered by that contract, even if it were a real deterrent. _Everything_ you tell Snape is covered by his contract! That's not even real trust. There's no risk in telling him things because he _can't_ tell anyone else. But you trust me! _Real_ trust." The further he got, the more confident Draco's expression became and the brighter his face got.

"You've got Professor Snape under a secrecy contract?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding scandalized, but the two Slytherins ignored her.

"Well – _yeah_," Harry replied to Draco hesitantly, still wondering where exactly this was going. "I trust that you can protect any information I give you, from someone who might try to take that information from you, and I trust that you won't sell me out to someone else and willingly give the information away, either."

"You trust me more than Snape," Draco stated, more to himself than anything else, grinning happily now.

Harry twisted his face up a bit and shrugged, not really confirming or denying anything, because, honestly, he wanted Draco to move past his freaking out, and smooth things over between them – especially considering he'd be spending a decent portion of his summer at Draco's home.

Draco's expression turned pensive for a moment before his eyes seemed to flash with something like determination mixed with hope. He pinned them on Harry, making Harry lean back slightly from his own position straddling the bench, and facing Draco.

"Harry... I... I want you to know how much... that, it really _means_ something to me. That you trust me. That... that I'm..." Draco trailed off, looking somewhat frustrated with his starkly out of character inarticulateness. Harry just blinked at him, feeling increasingly wary. "I just –" Draco started again before shaking his head in apparent frustration and then, quite suddenly, leaning forward to close the gap between them and kissing Harry on the lips.

Harry sat there, utterly stunned, and as motionless as rock, while the Malfoy heir kissed him awkwardly for several seconds and slowly pulled back. Draco's eyes, filled with a mixture of hope and terror, were locked onto Harry's, asking a silent question that Harry had no idea how to answer.

The shock finally seemed to clear enough for Harry's brain to start functioning again, but his jaw could only flounder as he found himself lost for words. "Draco..." Harry finally got out, but before anything else could be said, Draco's face paled something awful, he stood up and bolted from the Great Hall – tearing the muffling charm apart as he passed through it.

The rush of noise from the Great Hall intruded upon Harry's world rather suddenly and he stood up, twisting around to follow the blur of Draco Malfoy as he ran and vanished from between the open double-doors.

Gaping mouths, shocked expressions, and giggling amusement occupied the faces of a great many of the children filling the Slytherin table and the nearby Ravenclaw table, and those that had apparently missed what happened were turning to those nearby who had seen it, and asking what had happened.

Harry ignored them all and quickly took off after the blond, leaving a dumbstruck Hermione behind to stand there and watch him leave.

Harry made it into the entrance hall and looked around wildly searching for any signs of the blond. Seeing none, he quickly turned and headed for the archway and stairs that led down into the dungeons. A simple sweep of the Slytherin Common Room showed no signs of Draco, so Harry quickly jogged down the hall to their dorm room.

He found it empty as well, but didn't pause in his trek over to his bed, throwing open one of his trunks and quickly digging through it until he pulled out the Marauder's Map. He flattened it on his bed and spoke the activation phrase before quickly beginning to scour it for any signs of where Draco might have run off to.

Harry was still looking a few seconds later when he heard the door to the dorm room open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but when he saw it was only Blaise he turned his gaze back onto the map.

"Bloody hell," Blaise muttered under his breath with annoyance. "You _are_ going to go look for him, aren't you?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

Harry turned and frowned at the other boy. "What do you think I'm doing now?"

"Uh – looking at a scrap of parchment, while kneeling over your bed?"

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the map.

"I can't believe you just sat there, gaping at him like a fish. I mean, I can't believe Draco did it _in the Great Hall_ either, but he really put himself out there, and you just sat there –"

"What the hell would you have had me do? I had no bloody idea he was going to do something like that! I was a bit caught off guard!" Harry snapped back; his frustration and annoyance flaring.

"No clue? Merlin, you can be ridiculously dense for someone who's supposed to be so smart," Blaise said with a scoff.

Harry's brow furrowed as he held Blaise's gaze for several moments.

"Are you saying you knew he might do something like this?"

"I think it's been pretty damned obvious to _the rest of us_ that Draco's fancied you _for ages._"

Harry's brows climbed into his forehead and he blinked several times before they lowered and he frowned in thought. Slowly he closed his eyes with a pained expression and sighed. "Bullocks... I really am dense."

"No shit."

"I seriously had no idea."

"I kind of gathered that from your reaction at dinner."

Harry huffed and turned his gaze back onto the map, heaving a sigh of relief as he finally spotted Draco's name at the top of the Astronomy tower.

"So what are you going to do?" Blaise asked as Harry stood up and folded the map shut.

"Go talk to him," Harry answered as he jogged through the room, past Blaise and back out into the school, proper.

It took him about three minutes to get all the way to the Astronomy Tower from the Dungeons. After entering the doorway that led to the tall winding staircase, he pulled the map back out and double-checked to make sure Draco hadn't moved during that time, and that there was no one else up there with him.

He hadn't, and there wasn't. Harry turned and locked the door with his wand and set a ward that would alert him if anyone approached it. As he climbed higher, he shot several spells at the various portraits that occasionally littered the stone walls, putting their occupants to sleep. Finally he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the hatch that allowed entrance into the astronomy tower's single large room. He let it close behind him and cast a silencing ward on it before doing a quick sweep of the open circular room with open archways to the outer balcony ring.

There were no portraits out here, but he threw out a few quick spells to check for any listening spells. Finding nothing, Harry heaved a sigh, finding a sense of frustrated dread fill him that this had come at him from an apparent blind spot. He really would have liked to be better prepared for something like this, but apparently even after living as long as he did, it was easy to miss the obvious.

He had somehow come to value Draco's friendship in some weird way. The blond stuck by his side everywhere and he knew a 'truth' that was closer to the truth than anyone else outside of Snape and Marvolo. Harry wrote to Marvolo very regularly now, but that was different, and Harry certainly wouldn't lay claim to Snape being some frequent confidant. They spoke, and spoke frankly, but it was not a frequent occurrence.

Draco was... well, he was just _always there_. And while Harry didn't think he could quite find it in himself to fancy the boy romantically, he certainly didn't want to lose the relationship they did have. If he honestly wanted to salvage this situation, he realized he was going to have to be honest with Draco and just hope for the best.

Worst case scenario, he could _obliviate_ the boy and try a different approach later.

He walked around the center storage rack where the telescopes and star charts were stored and out through one of the open archways to the balcony. Draco was sitting along the parapet wall in one of the crenelation dips where the students would angle their telescopes out and up towards the sky. He was sitting in it sideways so his back against the raised merlon, and his legs were brought up so that his knees touched his chest. He was staring out into the distance and pretending that he hadn't noticed Harry was there.

Harry came over and leaned his back against the bit of wall that Draco was, and looked up at the overhang of the tower's roof. He heaved a sigh and started to talk without even looking Draco's way.

"So. You kissed me," Harry said, matter-of-factually.

Draco heaved a quiet sigh but made no other response.

"So, obviously, I'm an incredibly dense idiot," Harry admitted casually. "In retrospect, I suppose it has been somewhat obvious that you've fancied me for a while now, but I somehow managed to not realize it at all."

"You had no idea?" Draco asked softly.

Harry sighed. "No. None. I'm really dumb with those things. Always have been, honestly, which is kind of pathetic. You'd think I'd have learned to see the signs – and I _do_ when it's a stranger who has a crush on me, but for some weird reason, if someone I'm close to fancies me, it always comes up to surprise me..." Harry trailed off and grimaced.

"Admittedly, it never even graced my mind that you might feel that way about me. I just... didn't think it possible. I guess I had you so firmly lodged in the 'straight, and just a friend' category in my mind, that it made be blind to the obvious."

Draco turned finally, frowning around the corner at Harry. "How ever did you get it set into your head that I was so 'firmly straight', and that there was no chance of me being anything else?" Draco asked somewhat incredulously. "Pansy figured it out at the start of the year without me ever even saying anything to her. She kept telling me to flirt more openly with you and stuff and was always bringing up things to try and hook the two of us up. It was ridiculous."

Harry gaped at him before chuckling and shaking his head. Great Merlin was _that_ what she'd been doing?

He really _was_ an idiot.

The truth was that in every single one of Harry's lives where he'd lived long enough to reach adulthood, Draco Malfoy had married Astoria Greengrass and had a son he named Scorpius.

_Every one of them_. It was one of those constants that had happened so many times, he didn't question it anymore. It was just _a truth._

Of course _now_, he realized how stupid he was being for making assumptions. He _knew_ Draco now, and honestly... he really was a bit of a nancy boy. Very few things ever remained as consistent as Draco's marriage had – especially seeing as how Draco always ended up being different in each life Harry had lived, just because of the slightly different sorts of interactions the two of them had had, and whether or not there was a war of any sort. A person's experiences and desires, play a big role in who they fall in love with. And without the war, Draco Malfoy was a distinctly different person after Hogwarts, than he was in Harry's first life. That should have effected who he ended up marrying – especially since Draco and Astoria didn't seem to hook up until Draco turned 21... but that was also a bit too consistent not to be noteworthy. They always married shortly after Draco turned 21.

"Does your family have a betrothal contract with the Greengrass family?" Harry asked, having had a sudden epiphany.

Draco's expression turned dark and he scowled deeply.

"I don't _have_ to recognize it," Draco argued petulantly, but it was enough to answer Harry's question.

He _really_ was an idiot.

It wasn't like the idea that a man could marry a woman and father a child, and _still be gay_ was a foreign concept to him. He'd had _three children_ with his wife in his first life, and he didn't even have some pureblood tradition to explain away his marrying a woman. He'd just been so disconnected from his own feelings and desires that he just hadn't understood what was 'wrong' with his relationship until long after they'd been together for ages.

Draco very well could have _known_ he was gay, for _ages_, but still married Astoria out of familial duty.

He'd only ever had one son, too. Just enough to get an heir for the Malfoy line and then probably never share Astoria's bed again. Scorpius was the same age as Al, and Harry knew that Al had been conceived when Harry was 21. Hell – Scorpius could have been conceived on Draco and Astoria's wedding night, and that had been that.

Harry heaved another sigh. He was about to speak again, but Draco beat him to it.

"Look... I know I screwed up – doing that somewhere so public. I wasn't thinking," Draco said quickly, looking away again. "I don't know what I _expected_ to come from that, I just had this notion in my head that if I came out and declared my affection for you somewhere public, Father couldn't make me take it back. He couldn't pretend that who I liked didn't matter, and shove it all under the rug. It was... it was a stupid fantasy, and I just lost my head and... and _kissed_ you in the _Great Hall_. It was dumb. But that doesn't mean –"

"We can't be involved that way, Draco," Harry said tiredly.

Draco twisted and turned so that his legs came in towards the patio side of the parapet and he looked at Harry with a miserably twisted expression. "Why not! If it's because of my father, you don't have to worry. I'll convince him that it doesn't matter! I can always arrange some sort of surrogate mother that can carry an heir for me. It's unusual, and I'm sure there would be some who would want to call it a bastard, but things have changed a lot, even over the last twenty years. People are more open and accepting. I mean, look at how easily people accepted _you_ coming out! _Everyone_ knows, and _no one cares!_ And – and – and it's _you!_ Father respects you. He knows how powerful and how much influence you have, and you're the one who's gotten him into place as the Head of the Wizengamot! I'm _sure_ I can convince him –"

"It's not that, Draco," Harry interjected softly, turning so he was facing the blond boy now, and giving him a sad, apologetic type expression. "I just – I can't _see_ you that way. I've never seen you that way."

"Could you learn?" Draco asked in a pleading whisper.

Harry closed his eyes and reached up to rub his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "No, Draco. I don't think I could."

"_Why not?_" Draco asked somewhat desperately and his voice cracked with hurt. Harry pinched his eyes shut for several beats before he gave a resigned sigh and stepped away from the wall. He held his hand out to Draco, who hesitated and frowned at it a moment before taking it. Harry pulled him off the parapet, where, honestly, he'd been rather nervous to watch Draco crouched, and guided him to sit beside him on the stone floor with their backs against the wall.

"Don't get me wrong Draco – you're very attractive. Like I said, this stuff never even occurred to me before this, but I certainly don't find the idea of being with you in _that way_ unappealing. You're going to grow up to be an incredibly strong and attractive man, and I can certainly imagine other circumstances where I would have found the prospect quite appealing."

"But?" Draco said into the silence that spread a moment later.

Harry let out a heavy breath and nodded his head sadly. "But... there are mitigating circumstances that you're unaware of. I look at you now and... I just can't see it. I can't see it working. I told you back in the Great Hall that I trust you more than any other student in this school and that's true. But the truth is that I haven't been honest with you on one very significant secret about me. I've only told _two other people_ this – one is _Him_ and the other is Snape – and now... I'm telling _you,_ and I'm trusting that you won't tell anyone else. Is that faith misplaced, Draco?" Harry asked seriously, looking him in the eye for a long moment before pressing on.

"Like I said, I've revealed this to Snape, but _only_ after I had him sign that contract. I'm not holding you to the same restriction – which _is _a sign of trust_, yes – _but it also means that you are lacking a level of protection that he is afforded under the contract. The contract that I had Snape sign protects him from being subpoenaed to reveal the information in court and having to divulge information against his will. The magic of that contract is so strong that it even protects him from truth serums and mind intrusion. If you want, I can contact my solicitors and have a contract written up, and we can wait to have this conversation until it's ready."

Draco swallowed and his eyes were wide but he shook his head determinedly. "No. I'm fine without that, if you're willing to tell me without it. I'd rather know now."

Harry sighed and nodded. "Okay. Now, you need to understand something else – this thing I'm about to tell you? Dumbledore would _kill_ to know it. I'm probably not even exaggerating here. I've told him all sorts of crap and confused the living hell out of him. He has _no idea_ what the truth is, but he desperately _wants_ to know."

"And you're going to tell me the truth?" Draco asked in a somewhat awed whisper.

"Yes. I... honestly, I know I probably _shouldn't_, but I think, or at least, I _hope,_ that you and I are going to be friends and allies for a great many years to come, and honestly, I would really _like_ to be able to trust you with this. I also feel like I owe you a decent explanation to why _this_," Harry paused and motioned his hand between the two of them, "can't work. And if you know the truth, I think you'll have a much easier time coming to terms with that."

Draco's facial expressions were a tightly wound spring,seemingly barely held in place, but he nodded his head, somewhat shakily to show he understood.

Harry heaved another sigh and paused a moment to mentally prepare himself. "Okay, I'm not actually fourteen. Not _really_, anyway. I've lived for 611 years, in total."

Draco blinked and frowned rather deeply. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No, it's the truth. The best I can figure, I'm cursed or something, because I cannot properly die. I relive my life, over and over again. Almost like time-traveling, or alternate reality traveling. I really don't know, but every time that I die, I wake up an instant later, as a squalling newborn in the arms of my sweaty and exhausted mother. No matter how long I live or how I die, or _when _I die, I always wake back up on July 31st 1981, and have to do everything, all over again."

"You can't be serious," Draco whispered in obvious disbelief.

"It's why I know the school material as well as I do; why I can write as well as I do; why I seem to write politics from experience rather than just from book knowledge, even though there's no legitimate way for me to have had that experience yet in this life; and it's why I knew how to find the Dark Lord and how to help him return to sanity – I certainly didn't start out as some brilliant impossible child prodigy – I'm as smart as I am because this is my _twelfth life_. I've gone through Hogwarts seven times – almost eight, but in one of my lives I died a couple months after I turned thirteen. You know that Dementor that found us on the train at the start of third year? Well, my seventh life, I saw that thing and thought 'holy crap! Maybe this will actually let me die!' so I went right up to it and it sucked my soul out. I figured that there was no way I could be reborn if I didn't have a soul, _but_ – no go. Still woke back up, screaming and tiny."

"You intentionally let a Dementor suck out your soul!" Draco exclaimed, horrified.

"I was _tired_, Draco. Tired of living. I'm _still_ tired. I've killed myself seven times. My first three lives I died 'naturally'. My fourth and my eighth lives, I lived into middle-age but ended up killed by muggles – but that was really only because I was putting myself on the 'front lines' of the war, rather than keeping my head down, or dicking around with diplomacy like I did in the others."

"War? Are you saying there's going to be a _war_ with the _muggles_?" Draco gasped.

"Yes. There will be. We can get into that more, later. But – do you believe me?"

"Do I believe that you've been re-living your life, over and over again?" Draco asked incredulously.

Harry grinned sheepishly and nodded.

"I... Merlin, Harry, I have no idea. That's just insane, but it does explain a _lot_ of things about you that never made sense before."

"Like how I know all the things that I know – not just school-wise, but about people and places," Harry added and Draco nodded, looking tired.

Draco let his head fall back against the stone wall and closed his eyes for a moment. "What else is there? About... all this, or whatever."

Harry let out a short breath before beginning a more in-depth account of his many lives; the way he'd originally been a Gryffindor and sided with Dumbledore against the Dark Lord; the existence of the prophecy and his repeated attempts to fulfill it with as few casualties as possible. He explained how he'd finally decided to _not_ fulfill the prophecy, and instead, make sure Voldemort won, and then went into detail on how he'd helped the Dark Lord in their first year, and then gone to him at the end of their second to perform a ritual that would help stabilize Voldemort's mind and magic, returning some of his sanity.

Draco sat in rapt attention, asking a few clarifying questions from time to time, but mostly just listening while Harry talked.

Finally things seemed to wind down and Harry sat in silence while Draco seemed to be taking a moment to just process things. Finally, the blond spoke.

"Can I ask one more question?" Draco asked.

"Of course."

"What about all this makes it impossible for you and me to be more than friends?"

Harry blinked at him a couple times before letting out a tired chuckle and running his hand through his messy black hair. "Honestly, Draco? You and I are just so far apart as far as life experience is concerned, that I just don't think we would really have a viable chance at a relationship. I'm just _so much older_ than you are. I've experienced _so much more_. We're not on equal footing. We could never really be _equals_, and I need _at least_ an equal in a relationship."

"But by that logic, you'll never be able to have a relationship with _anyone!_ How are you going to find another 600-year old wizard?" Draco argued.

Harry heaved a sigh and shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I gave up on the prospect of romantic relationships a long time ago. It's just... it's painful, and its exhausting, and I just can't manage to _connect_ with people on the right level anymore. I've had a few flings, or one-night-stands from time to time, but even that doesn't really appeal to me."

"So what – you're going to remain alone and celibate forever?" Draco scoffed.

"I really don't know, Draco. I don't know what the future will hold, but I can't see myself connecting properly, with another bloke, in a romantic way, unless that bloke is _at least_ in his forties. _Maybe_ thirties, but I don't think that a thirty-year old could really begin to understand weight that living so many years can have on a person – the feeling of so many years having come and gone... I think that any romantic partner I have would need to be at least middle-aged. That's all. So..." Harry trailed off and then chuckled before shaking his head and shrugging, "Maybe ask me again in twenty or thirty years?"

Draco, apparently, did not find that all that funny because the frown never left his face and Harry eventually heaved a resigned sigh.

"I... I like a partner that can take control. It may seem counter to how much of a control freak I seem to be in some matters, but when it comes to the bedroom, I like someone who I feel can take care of me and take the stress off my shoulders – even if it's only while we're in bed."

"I can take care of you," Draco declared, tipping his chin up defiantly.

Harry chuckled weakly before sighing. "We're just not _right_, Draco. It wouldn't work. It _really_ wouldn't. Just... trust me on that one, okay? I've had a lot of lovers – I've had relationships that worked for years – even decades – and I've had a lot of relationships that just fell apart and failed utterly in months or even weeks. _I've been married_, and _had kids_. You and I make good friends. We'll make good associates and political and business partners in our future endeavors when we're both out of Hogwarts and you start working your way into your professional life. But we wouldn't work as a couple. It would just fall apart into a huge mess and cause all sorts of complications."

Draco bowed his head and scowled down at the stone floor between his crossed legs.

"Do you understand?" Harry asked gently.

Draco made something of a frustrated noise before heaving a sigh and nodding his head. "Yeah... I get it."

"I really am sorry."

"Don't, Harry... just... just don't."

"Yeah. Okay," Harry said before pausing a moment and speaking again. "Besides... I can't quite get over the memory of my youngest son dating your youngest son, and finding the parallels just _weird_."

"What?" Draco asked, looking at Harry, as if he were mad.

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "My third kid – Al, he was in the same year at Hogwarts as your kid, Scorpius. By sixth year, they were dating and stuck it out for quite a long time, too. I eventually became really fond of Scorpius, actually."

Draco gaped at him for several long beats before shaking his head and reluctantly smiling a bit. "Well, at least my _son_ was able to get what he wanted, then," he said, somewhat bitterly.

"I really am sorry, Draco."

"I mean it, Harry. Just drop it for now. Okay?"

"Alright."

"Can I have some time alone? To think?" Draco asked, turning his head slightly and glancing beseechingly at Harry.

Harry nodded his head for a silent moment before moving a bit and pushing himself back up into a standing position.

"You bet. You can come to me with anything, Draco. Really. If you've got more questions, don't hesitate to ask, either."

Draco nodded but didn't look back at Harry after that, and Harry eventually bid the blond goodbye and left the Astronomy tower all together.

– –

_The Daily Prophet, page 8_

_June 20__th__ 1995_

_Dearest readers,_ I have a real treat for you today. In this week's featured _Letter To The Editor_, we at the Daily Prophet are especially thrilled to grace you with an editorial letter from the one and only _Harry Potter._ To say that I was stunned to discover a letter, penned by his mighty quill, having found its way upon my desk, is a great understatement. But here it is, none the less!

I rather doubt it should be at all necessary for an introduction, but for anyone who mayhaps has been living under a rock somewhere, Harry Potter, presently age fourteen, has already been published, consistently, in Wizarding Britain's premiere socio-political magazine, Magical Policy Monthly; and has been doing so for over a year and a half now, to rave reviews and professional accolades from wizards many years his senior.

The boy, first famous for his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, at the tender age of 15 months, vanished for a decade, only increasing the public's undying curiosity about the mysterious child, and no-doubt raising expectations of him to levels that no normal child could ever fulfill.

But Harry Potter is no normal child! Oh no, my dear, loyal, readers. Upon his reappearance in our world, Harry Potter quickly sparked life into the long-standing curiosity, only adding to it with each additional year since then. Almost instantly renowned as a prodigy, both intellectually and magically, the boy has, again and again, proven to surpass even those expectations people have held for him, while also remaining tremendously reclusive to much of the public eye.

Therefore it is with great excitement, that I present to you now, his _Letter To The Editor._

_To the Daily Prophet and its readers,_

_My name is Harry Potter, and I am a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Such a distinction is generally considered a sign of some significance in our society. Hogwarts is the 'Premiere Magical School' of Britain. It's generally considered the __only__ magical school in Britain – although we know in reality that this is not really true. _

_If a young witch or wizard does not attend Hogwarts – for financial reasons, or reasons personal to the parents – then the only official alternative is home schooling, and getting the proper permits and licenses for that, is difficult at best, for the parents. But still common enough, that the Ministry holds OWL and NEWT examinations each summer, at the end of June, for any people who are not attending Hogwarts, but would like to take the tests to prove their ability to properly wield a wand, and earn the right to wield one for the rest of their days._

_According to Ministry Regulations, a student cannot take their OWL exams until they reach the age of fourteen. Hogwarts Students take the tests at the end of the 5__th__ year of schooling, which usually leaves them at the ages of fifteen and sixteen._

_I took my exams just this last week. I am fourteen years old. I would have taken my exams earlier, had that been an option, but alas, it was not._

_There was once a time, when a Hogwarts Education was considered far superior to any possible alternatives. We even claimed superiority to our international neighbors, like the Beauxbatons school in France, or the Durmstrang Institute of north-eastern Europe. But test results are not so conclusive anymore, and we have rarely tried making such a public claim for a number of years now for fear of being called on it and directing unwanted attention on our marked decline in test scores over the last couple decades._

_But there was one thing that people always felt confident in claiming – if you went to Hogwarts, you were far better off than those who did not attend the school. _

_I dare say, this is now a fallacy as well. _

_None of my academic achievements are the result of a Hogwarts education. No doubt they would love to lay claim to my prowess and proudly say they were responsible for that, but it would be a lie. This isn't to say that Hogwarts is bad at teaching, I simply say that what they are teaching is being taught too late. I already knew, and had mastered, all of the first and second – __and even third__ – year spells, when I arrived at the school at the tender age of eleven._

_I then focused on independent study and progressed with my own education, independent of the curriculum the rest of the students were learning._

_I am not stating this to brag, but to prove a point. _

_There is also a correlation with other independently educated children who sit their exams at the Ministry. I had the wonderful opportunity to speak at length with a number of the OWL examiners during the week they were at Hogwarts, and while I will not name any specific individuals, I was told the same things by several of them._

_Children educated at home, under a certain teaching philosophy, score consistently higher than anyone that comes out of Hogwarts. In fact their scores are the ones who tend to surpass the scores of our neighbors in France, and fall in line with the academic marks found at Durmstrang and the schools located in Spain and Greece that we Brits seem to like to pretend aren't there._

_Why? What is this specific philosophy that these home-schoolers use, that turns out such noticeably better educated students?_

_It's actually very simple. It isn't even the curriculum or types of magics they teach that is so different from a Hogwarts education. They simply start teaching magic earlier. __Much earlier._

_No, it's true. But few people know that this is going on in our world. __It's not supposed to go on__. It's actually __illegal__ to start teaching your children magic before the age of eleven, according to Ministry law. Although this is not the case in many other countries – the Eastern European Magical Union countries being an example. But in Britain, if it is discovered that you've been teaching your children magic, when they are deemed 'too young' to learn it, there are hefty fines and awful penalties for the parents – although, fortunately, the children are not held to account for these things, only their adult guardians. _

_So it's a tightly kept secret among those that do it. No child would ever come out and say that their parents started teaching them to control and wield their magic at the age of four or five, because it would put their parents at risk for prosecution._

_I, however, do not have to face that concern. The guardian who raised me is dead. He died two summers ago, and so there is truly no risk in me stating this – I have been using my magic since I was three. Consciously, and intentionally. I was taught from a very young age to control what many in our world call 'accidental' magic. We are taught that it cannot be controlled at such a young age, and are, instead, taught ways to suppress the outbursts and prevent them from happening._

_We teach our children to shun their bodies' attempts to manifest its magic at a young age, rather than nurture and expand upon it, and this stunts our development._

_There are many arguments for why magic at a young age is forbidden. Many state that the official reason is because it is simply too dangerous to put magic in the hands of someone so young, but I would argue that teaching a six year old to control their magic is really no more dangerous than teaching an eleven year old to do it. And the magic that a person can control at age six is far more limited than what you can do at eleven, anyway. The thing is that if you are learning the simpler magic at age six, you are far more in control of your magic by age eleven, and more likely to excel and thrive._

_There is, however, another reason some claim to as to the reason we are not supposed to be taught to control our magic at a young age._

_The wand._

_It is a tool of tremendous power and potential that gives us greater control over our magic and allows for far more powerful spells than can be performed without it. It is also a terrible crutch that we all become dependent upon._

_Did you know, that if you are not learning to master your magic from a very young age, that it is literally impossible to wield it without the aid of a wand? Well, of course you knew that. It's a -fact- for our lives. You cannot control your magic without a wand._

_But this is also a fallacy. It does not have to be this way. __It is not supposed to be this way.__ Wands are a relatively new invention in the grand scheme of things. If you are learning magic from an extremely young age, you are learning it without the aid of a wand. And that control is nurtured and strengthened and our magic grows like a muscle. The ability to control it grows with us. If you learn to control your magic from early childhood, you can continue to wield it without the aid of a wand for the rest of your life, and the addition of the wand to your learning is just an added tool. Another option in your magical repertoire. _

_For the truly powerful spells, a wand is still necessary. But it will be a tool then – not a crutch. You do not __have__ to have that wand in your hand to perform all magic, just some._

_If our children are not permitted to practice, strengthen, and learn control, over their magic from a young age, they will __never__ be able to wield their magic without the aid of a wand. They will forever remain dependent upon that small wooden stick, just as many of you are. You will never know what it is to be one with your core so instinctively that you can mold it to your will at a moments thought, because you were denied the opportunity to learn it when you were young._

_There are those among the conspiracy theorists who would say that the Ministry wants us dependent upon our wands so that, if the need should ever arise to try and control us, they merely have to take our wands from us, and their job is that much simpler. Should they need to deny a criminal access to his magic, all they need do is snap his wand. A witch or wizard can be banned from buying a new wand from any licensed providers – and you __must__ be licensed by the Ministry to sell wands – and any attempt to acquire one off a Black Market will only mark you, that much more, as a criminal. _

_A witch or wizard isn't even allowed to keep a wand past their age of majority without having passed at least 4 OWL and NEWT exams. When a foreign witch or wizard immigrates to Britain, they must pass an equivalent exam to prove their magical 'competence' in order to be legally licensed to carry a wand in our country._

_The removal or denial of a wand is the Ministry's way of controlling who can an cannot use magic. If a person could perform magic without that crutch, what alternate route could the Ministry use to force such control over the populace?_

_I cannot say how valid this argument might be, but it is powerful food for thought. _

_Many people I have known who have witnessed me performing magic without the use of my wand are stunned by it. People have become so ingrained with the use of their wands that they literally believe that performing magic without one is impossible. They think that it is a sign that I am some especially elite wizard. That I must be astoundingly powerful, to be able to do such a feat. But this is simply not true._

_While speaking with the examiners during the week of my OWL exams, I demonstrated my ability and several stated to having encountered other children that could so similar feats. All of these children were home-schooled and had most likely been learning to wield their magic from very young ages._

_None would admit to such a fact, of course, in order to protect their parents from persecution from the Ministry. But these children all had far superior educational marks than their peers with traditional education._

_Not only were they not left, eternally reliant on the crutch of a wand, even under situations of duress when a wand might be taken from them, or simply be unavailable to them, but they were also leagues ahead of their peers in all other magical performance areas simply because of the advanced years of practice and the more in-tune control they have over their magic._

_The purpose of this letter is to raise public awareness of the issue, but also as a call to arms of sorts. We need to stand up, as a free people, and demand respect and fair treatment by our government, and a proper education for our children._

_These laws that prevent us from our rightful use of our own magic, and punish parents from raising their children the way they see fit, are not in place for our benefit. They are not laws that exist for the good of the people, but for the good of the governance, alone. It is an oppression that we should not tolerate._

_I ask that you Owl your representative in the House of Commons; Owl the Ministry's Educational Reform department. Owl the Minister! Speak out for our rights, and the future of our children and their education._

_An Italian Political Philosopher once said "When you disarm the people, you commence to offend them and show that you distrust them either through cowardice or lack of confidence, and both of these opinions generate hatred."_

_Do you feel like your Ministry trusts you? Does their lack of faith offend you as much as it offends me?_

_-Harry Potter_

– – –

AN: Oh – and I'm aware that I've really fudged around with when and what order Harry's son Albus is born, and when Scorpius is born. I call right of AU fanfiction author license. I am aware that in cannon that Albus was the middle-child, not the youngest, but I needed him youngest for this, so I did. So there! Ha ha ha. Yeah.

Check out my tublr! aya-macchiato. tumblr. com

– – –

AN2: Edited to add: In my head it was assumed as cannon but I acknowledge that it's never explicitly said in the books – only in a few interviews with JK, but Draco is actually extremely proficient in Occlumency. In one interview she says he's been studying it since it was quite young, and was very good at it because he's also very good at hiding his true feelings and putting on masks. Where as Harry (cannon Harry) is awful at hiding his emotions, and therefore, he was horrible at occlumency.

So Draco can protect his mind. It's why Harry says that he trusts that Draco can protect information from people who would try to take it form him against his will. Sure, he probably wouldn't be able to stand up to a full-on attack from Dumbledore, if Dumbledore had no morals and was willing to do that level of attack on a child, _but Dumbledore wouldn't actually be willing to do that. _


	20. Chapter 20

Harry twisted his head from one side to the next, causing it to pop rather loudly, before he reached one arm up over his head and stretched it, working out the stiffness that had settled in from sitting on the uncomfortable train bench for the last two hours. Draco looked over at him and grimaced at the sound before rolling his eyes slightly and returning to reading the quidditch magazine he had laid out in his lap.

They were the only ones in the compartment, but only because they had forbidden Pansy or any of the others, to follow them into it. They'd spent a while in the start of the train ride back to London talking – or rather, Harry talked and Draco asked an endless stream of questions. Of course, secrecy warding of the train compartment had taken place first, since the things they were discussing were notably sensitive in nature. More specifically, Harry had been telling Draco about the 'future event's of the past lives he'd lived – events in history that hadn't actually happened yet here.

Draco had reacted oddly to the news that Harry had basically hated previous incarnations of Draco for _most_ of Harry's lives; he'd appeared rather _hurt, _in fact. Harry used Ron Weasley as a point of reference to ease the blond's bruised ego – he asked Draco how he thought Ron Weasley felt about Draco and then pointed out that, in his previous incarnations, Draco had treated Harry in the exact same way that Draco currently treated Ron. Draco had grimaced and gave a bit of a conceding gesture, but still didn't seem pleased by the idea.

However Harry had not actually spent much of this time on the train talking about his various lives during his Hogwarts years – but rather, the events that transpired years, _even decades,_ afterwards. Draco was surprisingly enthralled with the stories of the muggles' advancements in technology; their discovery of the magical world, and the drastically varied reactions different muggles and different countries, had to that discovery.

Draco had, of course, read Harry's letter to the Prophet before Harry had even mailed it off two days prior. At first he'd wondered why Harry would promote such an idea since, _surely_, the Dark Lord would prefer to have a populace he could easily control, the same way the Ministry preferred it, and for the same reasons, but Harry had pointed out that he had an entirely separate motive, outside of he and Marvolo's goals of gaining control over Britain, for proposing this drastic change in policy.

"It's actually about the survival of our species, Draco – it has nothing to do with how easy the masses will be to control once we're in charge," Harry had said after Draco had voiced his confusion. "Some of the muggle governments will make attempts to protect our rights and freedoms, but many others will sort of put the priority of enforcing that protection to the wayside because of various public demands, driven primarily out of fear of the unknown and misunderstood – namely, _us_. In some cases, the muggle governments themselves attempt to take our wands away, but in other cases it was just a matter of muggle extremists, or various crazies working on their own, kidnapping a witch or wizard, and taking their wand from them before they could protect themselves. The muggles _knew_ that we were helpless without our wands – that we were no more capable of controlling our magic without a wand than a muggle is capable of wielding magic. So _of course_ they took them from us.

"It was in the countries where magical education is started early, and a skill in wandless magic is developed and nurtured from an early age, that witches and wizards were best equipped to protect and defend themselves from these situations, but in countries like _Britain_, we were helpless. I'm starting this movement in hopes that by the time our world is discovered, at least one generation will have grown up without the dependency on a wand that the older people have. And there _are_ ways to try and train an older witch or wizard to start to wield their magic without a wand, but it takes decades of practice, and they'll never be as good as they could have been if they'd started early... well, unless they've got _600 years _to practice, but I'm a unique situation – obviously."

Draco had rolled his eyes at the end, but also agreed that Harry's strategy was definitely sound logic, given what he knew about coming events. It had been a revelation to him to realize that Harry's goals in gaining power in the Wizengamot were _far_ more extensive than simply aiding in the Dark Lord's rise to power, but were rather, based on looking much further into coming world events.

It was this realization that had spawned their conversation during the first few hours of their train ride on the way to London.

But now several hours had passed and they'd both run out of steam, as it were, and were taking a break. The trolly lady had recently been by and they'd gotten themselves a nice little stockpile of sweets to enjoy for the rest of the ride and were both taking the time to relax when a rather impatient sounding rapping came at the compartment door.

Harry lazily turned his head and looked over to the small window in the door and saw a scowling face surrounded by a frizzy brown mane of hair. Harry cocked a single curious eyebrow and began to sit up straighter. Draco glanced over and began to sneer in obvious annoyance as soon as he recognized who it was interrupting their privacy.

Harry waved his hand lazily through the air and the door slid open. Hermione blinked at it for a moment before frowning again and entering the compartment. She didn't even bother to ask before throwing herself onto the bench seat beside Harry and turning to glare at him. Harry waved his hand lazily and the compartment door closed behind them and locked itself. The subtle vibration of an erected privacy charm _did_ finally gain Hermione's attention, if the way her eyes widened was any indication, but a moment later she was back to staring Harry down.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" She asked in a demanding tone.

"Tell you what, precisely?" Harry asked back calmly. Draco looked like he wanted to bite Hermione's head off, but remained silent.

"About wandless magic – about being able to learn it! I've never seen anything about it being connected to practicing magic at a young age. I mean, hardly any book I've read even _mentions_ wandless magic at all, and those that do seem to all suggest it's just ridiculous and impossible! But here you are saying that all you need to do to perform wandless magic is start learning it when you're young!"

"It is important to point out that if a person practices magic at a young age, but never really nurtures the skill, and stops using wandless magic once they get a wand, that they _can_ still lose the ability. It must be practiced consistently your whole life."

"Okay, fine, but that's not what I care about! I mean... would it really have been too late for me, if I'd started practicing at eleven? I mean... if you'd just _told me_ that it was possible –"

"If you'll recall, we didn't really become friends until second year, and you were already thirteen by that time," Harry pointed out.

Her face fell even further before going pink with frustration.

"It's just so – urg! I mean, I understand some of the reasons that they'd have for wanting a way to restrict magic, but this just isn't right! I just wish..."

"You wish that you could have known sooner," Harry offered up gently.

"Yes!"

"Well, that's part of what I'm hoping to work towards with this," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

"For magical-born kids," she said, bitterly. "Muggleborns would still get the shaft! In fact, we'd be even worse off, if all of the magical-born children were learning magic from age five! There's no way they'd be able to catch up to that! It would only hugely intensify the disadvantage that they're already put at, by being suddenly thrown into a world that they never even knew existed before age ten or eleven!"

"Ah, but that is _also_ part of what I'm hoping to change," Harry said with a grin.

Draco sat up and frowned slightly while Hermione's eyes widened and a glimmer of curious hope sparked to life in them.

"How so, exactly?" Hermione asked.

"It is my intention for muggleborn children and their parents or guardians to be approached much sooner – within the first year of being identified, in fact."

"But when does that happen? How much difference in there between one muggleborn being identified and the next? I thought that it was the Hogwarts acceptance letters that allowed them to be found?" Hermione asked.

"Oh no, not at all. The Ministry keeps track of every muggleborn from _birth_. They even have a department thats responsible for keeping some level of surveillance on them for instances where accidental magic instances occur that are big enough to require memory modification."

Hermione gaped at him. "Seriously!?"

"Yes. It's a small department right now, though, and they're a bit overworked and understaffed. But I've already got legislation going through that would expand the department and increase its funding. After the attention gained from my letter, I'm hoping to tweak the expansion and introduce more legislation that will also go towards adding muggleborn early introduction program to their duties. Instead of just keeping track of the kids from birth until Hogwarts goes to visit them, I want the Ministry to actually play a role in introducing the muggle parents to our world so that their children are raised knowing about their magic from a very young age."

"Wait – _you've_ got legislation going through?" Hermione echoed incredulously.

"Well, obviously I didn't introduce or sponsor the bill personally, but I did help to draft it. It was introduced through Lady Samantha Bridges because she was interested and we figured it would look a lot less dubious if it was introduced through her."

"Who is _we?"_ Hermione asked cautiously, frowning.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said dismissively, but this only made her look even more wary. "Ah – see? That's precisely why we went through Madam Bridges," Harry pressed on an instant later. "Some people are just instinctively suspicious of anything Mr. Malfoy is involved in – even important matters such as this. Which I simply couldn't risk in this instance."

"But why would Mr. Malfoy want anything to do with a program that would help introduce muggleborn children to the magical world even _earlier_? I'd always gotten the impression," she paused and scowled over at Draco who sneered right back, "that the Malfoys want to _get rid_ of the muggleborns, all together – not introduce them to the magical world even _earlier_."

"Shows what _you_ know," Draco said contemptuously with his nose in the air.

"Are you suggesting I'm wrong?" Hermione asked pointedly, glaring at him.

"Our problem with the muggleborns isn't their presence so much as it is their ignorance and utter disregard for our traditions and culture," Draco drawled. "Obviously, we would never sully our blood lines by _breeding_ with them, but if they manage to fully embrace wizarding culture, we wouldn't have nearly so much a problem with them. As things stand now, the Ministry is so terrified of horribly offending the _parents_ of the muggleborns, and drawing unwanted scrutiny from the muggle government - because its happened several times now - that they bend over backwards to cater to their whims and idiotic ideas. If the muggleborns feel threatened by our traditions and how we practice our faith, the Ministry caters to _them_, and _we_ are the ones that have to change. They aren't expected to just get over it, or Merlin-forbid, adapt – _no_, we're expected to change _for them._ Why should _we_ have to change to suit the small minded biases of outsiders who are too ignorant to become informed of our traditions and culture? It's _insulting._"

Hermione gaped at him in utter astonishment.

"I – I hadn't ever heard it put like that," she finally managed to get out.

Draco only sneered at her more derisively than before. "Of course, you haven't. Why bother trying to see it from _our_ perspective? No doubt you were satisfied simply thinking it was nothing more than bigoted bias so you could see yourself as the self-righteous one – the _victim_, while I'm just the evil racist git who hates you for no good reason."

"Well, you don't have any good reason! What have _I _ever done to _you!? _ It's not like it's _my _fault the Ministry has passed laws against your traditions!" Hermione snapped defensively.

"It's not just _you – _it's what you stand for! You're the shining example that they set upon their little dais for why it's all worth it. Why we should just shut up and take it, while they forbid us from practicing our faith and strip us of our rights and traditions. You're the _perfect little muggleborn._ You're a brilliant little girl who came in knowing nothing and still manages to perform magic as good as the rest of us. But you came into our world knowing _nothing_. You knew what you'd read from Ministry-approved books and thought you knew everything – _but you knew nothing,_" Draco hissed in an angry growl.

"You knew what the Ministry felt was safe for you to know, while all the meat – the traditions that _we've_ been forbidden from practicing because it might _offend_ you – was hidden away from view so you and your parents wouldn't be overly intimidated and run away from our world all together. Because if your parents refuse to let you into our world, it only increases the risk of you exposing magic to the outside world later in life through ignorance.

"It was your arrogant assumption that everything you'd memorized from your books put you anywhere near a level playing field with the rest of us who had lived this world our _entire lives_, and the fact that the school and all those in the Ministry who promote this agenda, use people _like you_ as their poster-child for why it's okay that they do what they do, because it's obviously been for their greater good – it's _infuriating!_ Your existence, and your attitude, and your belief that you actually know anything at all, _is infuriating!_" Draco yelled with enough force that it left even Harry stunned.

The blond panted for several seconds with the force of his outburst before pulling his emotions back under control and visibly restraining his facial features with practiced grace. Harry could practically _see_ the boy's occlumency at work and mentally commended the teen on pulling off something so difficult to most people his age. But then again, Draco had been trained in Occlumency since before he could even legally wield a wand.

Hermione's lower lip quivered and her jaw floundered helplessly as she tried and failed to find something to say. Then, suddenly and with no warning, she stood up and raced from the carriage, letting the door close weakly behind her.

Draco closed his eyes and his brow puckered for several seconds before he once again regained his cool and turned effortlessly back to the magazine he'd been reading before she entered.

Harry watched him for several moments longer, but finally decided it was best to let things rest for now. He contemplated going after Hermione for a brief moment, but opted not to do that either. He'd only use the situation to twist her thoughts in a certain direction, and decided that, for once, he'd just let her work her way through this one, on her own.

– –

_For where the very safety of the country depends upon the resolution to be taken, no considerations of justice or injustice, humanity or cruelty, nor of glory or of shame, should be allowed to prevail. But putting all other considerations aside, the only question should be, what course will save the life and liberty of the country?_

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Harry and Draco packed up the last of their things as the Hogwarts Express finished pulling into Kings Cross station and came to a noisy stop, hissing steam, and grinding wheels against rails. Conversation had been slim for quite some time after Hermione had abruptly left their compartment, but about an hour before the trip ended, Draco did strike up a conversation, going on to ask Harry more questions about the various futures he'd lived and things that were yet to come.

Now the atmosphere between them was back to the relaxed casualness it had had for the last few days and Harry was grateful for it.

The pair stepped off the train, waving to a few of their housemates and Draco taking a moment to roll his eyes at Pansy as she simpered over him for a moment. Harry was about to turn his attention on to the baggage car when an especially powerful and annoyingly familiar magical resonance echoed through his senses, as someone apparated onto the platform.

Harry turned his head slowly, keeping a mask of bored indifference plastered across his face, and a moment later found himself looking directly at Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. His bright magenta robes with gaudy yellow twinkling stars spangled across them made the man impossible to miss, honestly.

"Is that – ?!" Draco's shocked gasp came from just behind Harry.

"Mmhmm," Harry hummed in affirmation.

"Oh Merlin! He's coming over here! I'm getting father," Draco hissed and quickly hurried off. Harry nodded his head slightly but didn't take his gaze off of the Headmaster, who _was _presently making his way through the parting sea of students and parents, directly towards Harry.

Harry had to fight off the smirk that wanted to curl its way across his lips as he saw the slightest indication of weary annoyance in the old man's face. He rather suspected he knew precisely why the Headmaster had chosen to make this rare visit to London's train station.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore greeted a moment later, in a calm genial tone that would have fooled most anyone else – anyone who _hadn't_ known the man for literally hundreds of years, anyway.

"Headmaster," Harry said back with a slight incline of his head as greeting.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," the familiar drawl of Lucius Malfoy intoned an instant later from just beyond Harry's left shoulder. "What a truly unexpected surprise. I can't say I recall _ever_ seeing you pay a visit to Platform 9 ¾ before."

"Ah, yes – I must admit I haven't paid the train station a proper visit in quite some time," Dumbledore said, valiantly maintaining his genial mask and smiling kindly at the tall blond aristocrat standing beside Harry.

"What then, may I inquire, has brought about such an unusual and rare visit, today?" Lucius went on with a pointed drawl.

"Ah, well, it just so happens that I realized I had one last bit of business to discuss with Harry before his holidays," Dumbledore replied, twinkle and smile, firmly in place.

"Oh? Is that so? I can't imagine _what_ you would possibly have to discuss with my ward, headmaster, that could not wait for you to request a proper visit to the manor, rather than an unexpected ambush at the train station."

"I would hardly call it an _ambush_, and I honestly didn't think that this would require anything quite so formal as a letter and a visit to your prestigious home. It should only take a moment of Harry's time, and I can be on my way."

"I'm afraid that we really are in quite a hurry, though... and it's rather odd – don't you think? Perhaps even _improper_, all things considered. Seeing as how, only weeks ago, you were pursuing legal avenues to prevent my wife and I from taking Mr. Potter in as our family's ward," he trailed off, looking down his sharp, aristocratic, nose, imperiously at the bearded old wizard.

"Oh, but this has nothing to do with that – just school business, I assure you, and it will only take the briefest of moments."

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that if he left this up to Lucius he'd likely not speak with Dumbledore today, and instead, they'd drag the man through a ridiculous amount of rubbish before arranging an overly stuffy meeting at the manor that Harry wouldn't want to do _anyway_. In all honesty, he'd rather get it over with now.

"I think I can spare a few moments, don't you Mr. Malfoy?" Harry said, turning to look at the man over his shoulder.

Lucius pinned him with a penetrating gaze for several beats before nodding his head. "If you're sure, _Harry_."

"I'm sure. Thank you for your concern, though," Harry replied with a respectful nod before turning back to Dumbledore and giving him a tight smile that was intended to look forced.

"Shall we discuss this out of the flow of traffic?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing towards a pillar not far from where they were presently standing.

Harry nodded his head and strode over to the indicated area and stood waiting while Dumbledore came to stand beside him and made a subtle wave of his wand, erecting a small privacy ward.

"I read your letter to the editor in today's Daily Prophet," Dumbledore said in a casual conversational sort of tone.

"Before, or after, the first howler had arrived?" Harry asked back, sounding equally conversational.

If he hadn't been watching for it, Harry probably would have missed the small twitch in the man's eye.

"Ah – _after_, I must admit," Dumbledore replied, smiling back. "In fact, I believe I had received six howlers before I managed to actually _finish_ reading your letter," he went on, still giving Harry that false smile. It didn't last, however, and a moment later his expression seemed to melt away and morph into the grandfatherly guilt-inspiring one the man often turned to when his other methods failed. "Harry... _why?_"

"Why? Why what?"

"A _call to arms?_ Did you not consider the potential consequences such words might have? Not only the resultant swelling of discontent, but the real-world consequences of allowing people to teach their children whatever magic they see fit to teach, from whatever age they see fit to do it from? These things cannot be so disorganized and unpredictable. Our education system only works well if all of our students are coming into the education system around the same levels at the same ages. Unfair advantages would be given to those whose family could afford professional tutors at young ages, while muggleborns would be especially disadvantaged. It –"

"Stop. Just, stop, we both know that you're just blowing hot air. You ask me why? I ask you how you can possibly ask me that question in any seriousness?" Harry shot back sharply while piercing the man with cold penetrating eyes. "It should be _obvious_, _especially to you_, precisely why I would propose early magical introduction and instruction in wandless magic. There is a _war_ coming in our future. A war with _muggles_, who will look at our wands and see a glaring and obvious weakness. A weakness that they will waste no time in taking advantage of.

"The _very first thing _that the muggles will try to do, is take our wands. And the way things stand right now, without our wands, _we will be helpless. _But if things are rectified now, by the time the war is finally upon us, we will have at least one generation of witches and wizards who will have at least a fighting chance of defending themselves, even when their wands are snapped and taken from them. A chance to defend their families and their homes, and showing the muggles that we are not sheep to be walked all over and shoved into pens.

"I have told Sirius what I've seen and I know he's told you. You _know_ precisely what motivation I would have for a move like this, and if you could not see the obvious reason behind my actions without me having to tell you, face to face, than you are even more obtuse than I had originally feared."

"You would have _children_ trained to fight this supposed war with muggles?" Dumbledore said in a tone and with an expression that was intended to show his great disappointment. Harry's eyes only narrowed in anger.

"You know damn well that you are the last one to talk to me in that regard," Harry hissed back sharply. "All through the seventies you were grooming select students from select backgrounds and families, with the hope that they would join your Order and fight together to stop Voldemort from destroying our world _My parents_ being prime examples! You disgusting old hypocrite! I seek to save us from an enemy far greater and far more powerful than a single Dark wizard and his band of followers. The muggles outnumber us so profoundly that it's staggering to honestly contemplate the numbers. They will wipe us out – _utterly_. And you don't even think it's a serious threat! You're probably still wasting time worrying about Voldemort making a return! And when you do spare a moment to contemplate the real threat that I have revealed to you, you probably just keep telling yourself that diplomacy will be the answer, and you honestly believe it – and will _continue_ to believe it, no matter what I say. But it won't work, and if you were to lead us down that path, you would be leading hundreds of thousands of Britain's magical populace to their graves."

"Surely there is another way!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "All out war against the muggles cannot possibly be the answer! You yourself said that they outnumber us profoundly. We could never best them in open-warfare without bringing about monumental casualties!"

"Precisely!" Harry hissed. "We only stand a chance against them if we take the threat seriously and go all out from the very start. We have to show them how staggering our power can be when we do not hold back, otherwise they will not fear us and will crush us instead."

"I refuse to believe that is the only solution!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"Then you would lead us to our deaths," Harry hissed dangerously.

"I would rather risk that, then tread the path that your propose," Dumbledore rubbled gravely.

Harry glared at him through narrowed, hateful eyes and Dumbledore glared right back.

"And that is why you will die a failure. If I were not here to see to it that the world does not suffer for your mistakes, your arrogance, and your pride, you would die watching your world burn to the ground around you. Instead, you will die, greeted by Death, while I take your wand and do with it what you could not – I will save the wizarding world from the greatest threat it will ever face. Utter annihilation."

"The Hallows are not the answer, my boy," Dumbledore said in a gravely warning tone.

"You think you know so much, but you know nothing," Harry said in a slow, clipped, tone. "You think you see the bigger picture, but you are blinded by what you want to see. You think of yourself as a guiding light – a beacon of righteousness and second chances and honor – and you think that you can lead others to follow your example by goodness and good intent. But the world is not filled with righteous, honorable men. The world is filled with people who are controlled by their fear and their hate; people who will take advantage of the weak at a moments opportunity; people who are blind sheep who will do whatever someone else tells them to do; and people who are lazy and will only do what is easiest to do until its too late to do whats hard, but necessary. You can live your righteous life all you want and see the world for all its wonderful potential, but it won't change the way the world _actually is._ If you make your plans based on the assumptions that the world works the way you _want it_ to work, rather than the way it _actually works_, you will only find all of your plans crumbling in the ashes around your feet."

Dumbledore looked upon Harry with saddened eyes and shook his head slowly. "Where did you gain such a jaded and bitter outlook on life, my child?"

"I'm not your child," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "I've lived more years in my visions than you've lived in your entire life. And I'm not bitter and jaded; I'm _realistic. _ I would rather be that, and be prepared for the worst and come out occasionally surprised, than hope for the best, be constantly let down, and then end up dead. Now if you're all done, I've already spent far more time here than I had intended. You did, after all, say it would only take a _moment_ of my time."

Dumbledore stood his full height so he was looking down his long bent nose at Harry with cold eyes filled with disappointment. Harry merely glared right back at him with all the burning hatred he'd come to honestly hold for the man who had been his mentor in so many of his lives.

"If that's how you want to do this, then so be it," Dumbledore said. "Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Enjoy your holiday."

"Oh, I will. See you in September, _Headmaster._"

Harry turned on the spot and strode properly back across the platform to where the Malfoys were standing and waiting for him. Lucius arched a single questioning eyebrow while Draco was standing there practically wide-eyed with shocked excitement – which was quite a considerable amount of emotion for the teen to display in so public a setting. Narcissa's expression was prim and proper but Harry could see the slightest indication of worry in her brow and eyes. Harry smiled reassuringly at her, specifically, before giving Draco a small smirk.

Finally he got back to the group and Lucius gave him a rather pointed look. "I must say, Mr. Potter – I do believe I just witnessed you accomplish something I have rarely ever seen any other do."

"Oh?" Harry replied blandly.

"Oh yes. I can't even recall the last time I saw the great and venerable headmaster of Hogwarts display such open anger and contempt on his face in so public a setting."

Harry chuckled, grinning slightly and looking up at Lucius. "I'm good at getting on people's nerves when I feel so inclined to do so."

"Yes, I do believe I am aware of that particular talent of your's," Lucius drawled somewhat contemptuously, only causing Harry's grin to grow wider.

"So why was he here?" Draco asked, excitedly.

"He got a small mountain of howlers because of my letter to the Prophet," Harry said dismissively as the group began to move across the platform to the apparition zone while Harry and Draco's trunks were levitated behind them.

"But what could he possibly have expected to accomplish by approaching you, _now?_" Draco asked in legitimate bewilderment. "The article is already out there – it's not like you can take it back. Even if you wrote a retraction, it wouldn't really make that big of a difference. The idea is already out there."

"He probably had something in mind that he intended to ask me about, or tell me, but I think I sort of derailed his planned arguments. I'm good at that," Harry said, smirking smugly.

"You've _got_ to tell me what you said," Draco said eagerly and Harry chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"It will have to wait until after Mr. Potter and I are finished at the Ministry," Lucius said, drawing Draco's gaze for a moment.

"Well, yes, of course. I wonder if Dumbledore knew about your plans to go to the Ministry and _that_ was part of why he'd come here?" Draco mused looking back at Harry.

Harry shrugged and the group came to a stop in an open spot in the outgoing apparition area. Narcissa went over to Draco and placed one of her hands on his shoulder, and the other on one of the trunks that came to a rest beside her. Draco reached over and grabbed hold of the other two and gave Harry a brief smirk. "Well, you owe me a story when you get to the manor."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Of course." He turned his attention back to Lucius who placed his hand on Harry's shoulder before the pair vanished with a crack, followed a moment later by Narcissa and Draco disappearing as well.

–

Draco jerked slightly but maintained an otherwise perfect stance as he and his mother appeared in the Manor's entrance hall with a crack. He instantly released his grip on the trunks he had been loosely holding and called out for a house elf. One of them appeared an instant later and Draco wasted little time in commanding it to take he and Harry's trunks to their respective rooms.

"Yes young-master, of course, young-master," the elf said, bowing lowly and repeatedly while walking backwards for a moment before snapping its fingers and sending the trunks away. "There is a guest waiting in the west Drawing Room, young-master. He says he wishes to speak with your promptly."

Draco frowned, wondering who could possibly be there to visit _him_.

"Who is it?" he asked impatiently.

The elf became visibly more nervous than even before and fidgeted slightly with it's long, knobbly-fingered, wrinkled hands. "I's not being sure, young-master. He's been comings to the manor for months now, sir, visiting with Master Lucius, sir," the elf said in a shaky voice. "I's be thinking the wizard is being called Lord Veras, but I's not being sure, young-master."

Draco felt a spike of fear shoot down his spine and felt all his muscles lock up.

"Lord Veras is here to see _Draco?_" Narcissa asked in a worried hush. "You're sure?" she asked more sharply.

The elf quivered and cowered, nodding it's head quickly. "Yes mistress, I's being sure. The Lord-Wizard most assuredly said he wanted Master Draco, as soon as he was beings back from school."

"Oh," Narcissa whispered in a hush of worry that let Draco know that she knew exactly who Veras really was. "Well, Draco-dear – you'd best go, _and hurry._ We don't want to make him wait."

Draco looked up and met her eyes, seeing the legitimate concern that sparked in them and the slight quiver in her normally stoic facial mask.

"Yes, mother," Draco said, trying to pull himself together and turning to leave the entry hall. It didn't take long to get to the west drawing room, as it was just down the hall, but it still felt like an eternity as each step he took echoed through the grand marble-floored hall. He pulled himself up to his full height as he came to a brief stop at the door and took in one quick calming breath before reaching down and turning the ornate door handle.

He entered the room quietly, and saw that the elf was right; Marcus Veras – the man who was really the Dark Lord – was standing in the center of the lavishly decorated room facing the large arched window in a beam of dust-speckled light, with his arms back and hands clasped behind his back.

Draco let the door fall quietly closed, but the click was still loud enough in the otherwise silent room to be heard quite clearly. The Dark Lord turned with smooth grace until he was backlit by the light from the window and managed to appear as a towering and imposing figure in what should have been a comfortably familiar room.

But it wasn't just the way the man stood tall and proud in the noble room that managed to take Draco's breath away – no, it was the almost tangible thickness in the air to the man's magic. Physically, he looked no different to Draco, than he had six months prior at the Yule Ball, but there was something undeniably, and monumentally, _different_ about the man who was now standing before him.

Draco could taste the man's magic, it was so intense. It filled the room, and pressed its way through the air with eddies and currents, like some thick viscus fluid in a boiling cauldron. How could he have not felt this power before? It seemed unfathomable that anyone who had _so much raw magical power_ could possibly mask it from the senses of others so entirely. There was just _so much of it_. But this man – _this Dark Lord – _apparently could mask it flawlessly, because Draco had never had the slightest idea of just how much power the man was hiding beneath the surface, in the two instances in the past where he had been in the man's presence.

Draco took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself back together and clear his mind from the overwhelming impact of being so close to a wizard that was so powerful. He understood now, where he had never truly understood before, just how his father could hold such respect and awe for this man. It wasn't just fear of the awful things he could do – it was respect for the monumental power he wielded. Falling back on his training, Draco slipped flawlessly down to one knee and bowed his head low.

"My Lord," Draco breathed in a shaky breath.

"Draco," the man replied in a lilting hiss. "I see that your father has taught you well. However we have little time for for frivalties You may rise."

Draco felt as if his legs had turned to jelly, and had to place one hand on his knee to support himself enough to begin pushing himself back upwards. He tried valiantly to mask his nerves as he slowly raised his head and returned to a standing position in as smooth a transition as he could manage. He may have been willing to prostrate himself to this wizard without hesitation, but he still had his Malfoy pride to maintain.

He stood as proud and calm as his occlumency would allow him to and met the other wizards eyes – for all of two seconds before he dipped his head and settled for looking at the man's chest instead. The strength of those penetrating eyes was only surpassed by their slightly reddish tinge. _That_ had definitely not been their color at the ball. He feared that his heart was about to burst its way out of his chest, it was racing so intensely with nerves and a strange sort of excitement.

"Harry tells me that you are now, shall we say, _in the know_, about his rather unprecedented situation," the Dark Lord drawled and Draco felt a powerful shudder shoot down his spine and into his gut, and he wasn't even sure entirely why.

"T-that's correct, my Lord," Draco said, and then silently cursed himself for the slight stutter.

"I'm sure you can appreciate how important it is that this piece of information not be accidentally leaked to any unwanted sources," the Dark Lord went on in a deathly quiet tone.

Draco swallowed. "Yes, of course. I've already promised Harry I won't tell a soul, and I meant it. I understand completely how – how _monumental _– such a secret is. I swear I will do everything in my power to make sure it never gets out to anyone that – that shouldn't know," Draco finished somewhat lamely, again cursing his nerves and how utterly unprepared he was for something like this to happen.

"Mmm – yes," the Dark Lord drawled in a rather unconvinced-sounding tone. "Harry, it seems, may be satisfied with your _word _that you would not betray his confidences, and he may be willing to believe in your supposed skill in occlumency to protect such sensitive information should anyone try to take it from you against your will – but _I am not _quite so inclined."

A horrible sense of dread flooded Draco's entire being. He wondered suddenly if he were about to be obliviated, and all he could think was that he desperately didn't want to forget what Harry had told him. He was still coming to terms with the prospect that he and Harry as a couple was not a prospect that he could realistically hope for, but he and Harry as friends and allies was something that was still hugely important to him. And he felt like, now, for the first time, he was finally starting to understand Harry. These last couple days he had felt like Harry had opened up to him with legitimate honesty and a _freedom _of conversing and sharing that they hadn't had before – _and he didn't want to lose that!_

"M-my Lord – _please. _I – you can trust me. I _swear –"_

"A person does not gain as much power as I have held in my life by _trusting_ people," the Dark Lord hissed and Draco snapped his mouth shut and gave a shaky conceding nod.

"Y-yes, my Lord. I understand," Draco rasped, feeling a sense of defeated resignation flood him.

"Now, fortunately for you, I do hold some regard for Harry's wishes, and he would not approve of my intervening and obliviating you without consulting him first. Therefore I will simply have to settle on insisting that you sign a magically binding secrecy contract instead."

Draco's head shot up and his lips parted in shock as despair was replaced with hope.

"My Lord?" Draco whispered in hope.

The tall imposing wizard before him reached into his robes and pulled out a sheet of parchment with a flourish. He raised it slightly in front of him before retracting his hand, leaving it floating in the space between them, unsupported by anything but the man's monumental magic that filled the room so thickly. A bored wave of the Dark Lord's hand sent the parchment sailing through the air to present itself to Draco.

Draco blinked at in for a moment before warily reaching out and plucking it from the air. Draco glanced questioningly at the Dark Lord who merely raised a single impatient brow back, before quickly giving his full focus to the parchment now in his hands.

It was a magical contract, just as the man had said. Fairly straightforward, and also quite clearly very harsh in the consequences for breaking it. Case in point, should Draco ever reveal what Harry had told him about Harry's past lives, _to anyone, for any reason_, Draco would die. There wasn't even a lot of wiggle room or warning signs. It was actually a rather terrifying contract. But then again, Draco suspected he didn't really have any choice in the matter at the moment.

With a shaky nod of his head, Draco turned towards one of the end-tables that littered the room, pushing aside some trinket of his mother's so he had room to place the parchment down flat, and using his wand to summon a quill from somewhere in the manor.

No sooner had Draco signed the parchment, when it was summoned away from him and into the waiting hand of the Dark Lord.

The man eyed it speculatively for a moment before waving his wand over it. It flashed, and then vanished. Draco could feel the magic take hold and it was tight in his chest for a moment before the feeling subsided. He pushed his fear and worries behind his shields and swallowed the lump that had settled into his throat so he could look at the imposing figure that was standing before him.

The Dark Lord gave him a slightly condescending sort of smirk and nodded his head. "Very good, Draco. I do believe that my business here is now concluded. When Lucius and Harry return from the Ministry, please let them know that I would like to see Harry at my manor at his soonest convenience."

"Yes, my Lord, I will," Draco said with a slight nod of his head as he took a step back and to the side to allow the other man room to vacate the room, as that seemed to be his intention.

"Good," the Dark Lord said as he began to stride forward, towards the door. Just before reaching it he paused and turned to look back at Draco over his shoulder. "Oh, one last thing, Draco –"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Should you ever attempt romantic advances on Harry again, I will _eviscerate_ you," he hissed in a deathly quiet tone. "Understood?"

Draco's jaw floundered in shock. "M-my Lord?"

"Harry is _mine_. _Understood?"_ he said in a slow, clipped, and clearly _threatening_ tone.

Draco quickly nodded his head up and down, and clamped his lips tightly together, simply to stop his mouth from gaping open in terrified shock. The magic that had been imposing and nearly suffocating before, was beyond frigid now, and deathly threatening. Draco could practically feel the man's anger, seeping into his bones.

"Good," the Dark Lord said before turning back towards the door, pulling it open, and walking calmly out.

Draco managed to remain standing for several seconds longer before his legs finally gave out and he found himself on his knees, panting with the force of his shock.

* * *

AN: So I had someone tell me in a review that in summaries, when you describe the pairing, it's supposed to be top/bottom. So my saying hp/lv was supposedly suggestiong that this would be a top!Harry fic, and that I had, therefore, mislead them with this description.

Is that really a thing, and I've just managed to remain ignorant of it? The whole 'top goes first in the slash pairing thingies' deal? Because, yeah – seriously. Never heard of that.

Sorry for anyone who was horribly mislead by my lack of knowledge of slash fiction etiquette. I really had no idea that some people have the expectation that pairings have to be defined by set-in-stone roles and boiled down to a simple xx/xx format from the very beginning.

ALSO – I have to say, I'm rather surprised by the number of people I've heard from over the course of this story – specifically the last few chapters – expressing their displeasure that I'm taking it into a romantic slash direction, because I had somehow managed to assume that was just sort of... obvious.

* * *

**Edit -** WHOA, didn't expect so many reviews just commenting on this last author note. Okay, so from the zillion comments I've gotten on the subject, it's clear to me now that the top/bottom format is a seme/uke thing and originates in yaoi fanfiction, which I've never bothered to read on this site, since I was into yaoi doujinshi back in highschool, and that was over a decade ago. I guess I always figured if I was bothering to go the japanese yaoi route, I'd prefer it to have pictures - lol. So I've never read it in written-only format. Therefore have remained ignorant of this particular tradition.

Just the same, it doesn't seem to consistently bleed over to most English-originating fandoms, so there's been a huge number of reviewers who read mostly/only HP fiction, who had never heard of it either.


	21. An Interlude

Again and Again – An Interlude

The Muggle-Wizard War

Its important to realize that the name, Muggle-Wizard War, itself is a bit of a misnomer, in the fact that there was very little open-warfare during the conflicts that began after the wizarding world was fully uncovered to the public eye. Large-scale conflicts did eventually arise, however it took more than a decade after the exposure of the magical people of the world, for such conflicts to truly begin to grow in scale.

In the beginning, there was no government-run open warfare in any of the modern nations. The _Armies_ of the muggle governments did not wage large-scale, year-long battles against magical governments, in any of the major first-world countries. There _were_ eventually government-authorized purges and 'witch hunts' in a number of smaller nations. Magical inhabitants of those countries tried to hid out as long as they could, but many eventually evacuated their homelands in hopes of migrating to less hostile countries.

Many, if not all, of the major countries' top government officials were already aware of the magical world long before the eventual exposure – although, generally, only the highest officials, i.e. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Royals, etc. - actually knew, as it was always a tightly guarded secret. Treaties had been long-standing in all of these nations between the muggle government and it's magical counterpart, and the upper echelons of the governments actually did make efforts in the early years, to try and help cover up the full exposure of the magical world. However, it was inevitable as social media, internet everywhere, camera phones, and other such devices, became world-wide. Sending out teams of Obliviators was no longer effective when video evidence could be posted on youtube and watched by hundreds, if not thousands, before the witches and wizards could even get on sight to start modifying memories.

It simply became too large scale a task to tackle effectively.

Once more and more irrefutable evidence began showing up everywhere, groups began popping up, of people who were searching for these mysterious, seemingly supernatural people and proof of their existence. On the civilian side, there were numerous motives for these groups – there were those who were the 'paranormal' hobbyists and would group together for the sake of curiosity and interest – there were those that were more fearful and wanted to know just who and what these people were – and there were those in a more corporate setting who saw a potential monetary gain, should these people be found, and their abilities exploited.

One large bio-pharmaceuticals conglomerate that was also one of the worlds largest research and supply groups for military purposes, secretly began a project to find and study these people, unbeknownst to any governments at the time.

On the non-civilian side of things, as more irrefutable evidence surfaced, people who held high positions in governments, but not high enough to have been 'need to know' began expressing interest in these 'magicals'. Some individuals specifically began sticking their noses into places, demanding information and disclosure.

As more people began to believe in and know about the existence of these 'magicals', senators and other legislators from the larger nations, pushed onwards by the demands of their constituents, began making demands on house floors for official investigations. Disclosure was demanded by the people as fear of the unknown grew rampant in certain parts of the world.

Groups popped up from religious extremists who considered all magic-users demonic or evil. Groups popped up from the other side of the same spectrum, made up of people who saw the magicals as the answer to all the world's woes. Some people thought they were gods – some people thought they were aliens – some people thought they were angels. Whether they muggles wanted to burn them, or worship them, it didn't matter – they just wanted them exposed and uncovered.

In March of 2011, a research and military product development firm in the United States announced (through the first successful test) of a device that could tear down several common forms of magical warding. The Disillusionment and 'Notice-Me-Not' warding used on buildings, was the primary target of the device they created. The test was conducted in San Francisco's magical district, and in an instant, a huge, bustling market, filled with witches and wizards in robes, with owls and cats and cauldrons, was exposed to the world.

Demand for the device was tremendous as several groups, backed by powerful and wealthy corporate owners with various dubious motives, began taking portable versions of it around every major city in attempts to find and expose all magically hidden communities.

On the Magical side of all this, people were in a total panic. More and more people began to hide away in their homes, trying desperately to not draw attention to themselves. People pulled their children from muggle primary schools for fear of persecution, should their child demonstrate any signs of accidental magic and expose their secret tot he muggles. The higher-ups in several of the muggle governments made attempts to defend the privacy and the rights of the magicals, and legal action was taken against those who attacked or raided storefronts in magical districts, and trespassers against private residences, as they would with any citizen of their countries, but it was often too little too late, and in some counties, provinces, etc. there was enough anti-magical sentiment in the local government level, that no action was taken to prevent violence against them at all. People who were suspected of being magical were often arrested by local law enforcement for little or no legitimate reason.

Any attempts from magicals to use magic to defend themselves was met with harsh consequences. Every time a group of magicals resorted to violence or controlled use of dangerous magical creatures to aid in their skirmishes against the muggles, it only grew the muggle fear and backlash as they saw more and more glimpses of the potential horrors the magicals could wield. People within magical communities were often instructed to try and remain as cooperative as possible and wait for help to come, rather than increase the muggles' fear and bring about even harsher reactions and restrictions.

These magical groups were denounced by those in the magical governments who were trying to enact treaties to protect their electorate and constituents and negotiate ways for isolated communities to be reinstated and left alone.

However, muggle Politicians were bombarded by a large number of their constituents that were demanding that the magicals come out, entirely, and stop hiding all together – numerous motives, both bad and good, existed behind these demands. As a result, many countries began to introduce registration acts that quickly gained momentum in the legislative houses. Many magical governments tried to make concessions, saying that they would agree to the registration acts, so long as the magicals were allowed to remain in their communities and be left alone. Treaties were negotiated, but rarely upheld or ended leaning towards the magical's favor. The magical governments were willing ton concede to most things, however, in hopes of avoiding large-scale open-warfare with the monumentally larger muggle population.

There were those among the magical governments who pushed for full and legitimate open warefare on the argument that if they acted now, and acted without restraint, they may have the power to push back the muggle forces and show enough of a sign of force to scare them off for a while and give the magicals time to regroup and recover from the unexpected exposure. These groups, however, were out numbered by those who feared warfare, and refused to take such a violent route, in favor of political diplomacy.

The magical populace as a whole scrambled to create better and effective wards and spells to hide themselves from the muggles and their devices, but they were not fast enough to prevent the almost total exposure of all of their secret places and hidden houses, as the devices that disrupted their wards were mass produced and a large company funded by a right-wing extremist in the US, began sending out fleets of vehicles with the devices in the backs of trucks and vans, and driving down every road in every city in the country.

The practice spread quickly to Europe and Britain, and soon every magical village in the first world had been identified and mapped. Very few places had wards strong enough to stand up to the strange new technology that the magicals were finding extremely bewildering. Hogwarts, mostly because of it's location on a crossroads of several very powerful ley lines, was one of those locations that managed to remain hidden, although the muggles technology was strong enough to defeat some layers of the wards around Hogsmeade that made any muggle who approached it instantly turn around and leave. These few locations with wards powerful enough to remain hidden from the muggles, often became refugee comps of a sort, for those escaping from violence that occured in the magical villages, and in muggle cities where magical homes were located and exposed.

Eventually, bodysuits with a lining along the same lines as a faraday bag or suit, were developed, that isolated the person inside it from being effected by mind-altering spells, such as the ones used to distract and confuse people who got too close to magical locations. Teams of privately funded muggles, wearing these high-tech and extremely expensive suits, began infiltrating magical villages for varying reasons.

Demands were made by powerful financial backers of such groups that magicals perform certain tasks for them, or divine information, or cure a dying individual. Sometimes people were kidnapped in these raids, en mass; sometimes violence ensued and battles took place as the magicals living in the area defended their home and village using magic, while the muggles used automatic machine guns, grenades, and other weapons.

The early versions of the suits were only effective against certain forms of magic, but in later revisions, several years down the road, they were able to protect anyone wearing them from most forms of magical assault, rendering even those witches and wizards who still had their wands, nearly helpless against the assaults.

While all of this was going on, different countries were handling the problems in different ways. In both Russia and the Ukraine, open warfare was launched after the muggle governments demanded that all magicals register and relinquish their wands, pending background investigations and 'earning the right' to have them back.

The Russian wizarding community did not hold back and decimated the muggle forces. Dementors, Infiri, Dragons and Wyverns – many large reserves for various especially dangerous magical creatures had already existed in the unpopulated wilds of the Russian arctic circle and they were brought out in force. In several swift and deadly battles, the magicals reigned terror on the muggles, resulting in huge casualties.

An area that had already been occupied almost exclusively by magicals was designated a 'no-muggle zone' and a large wall was constructed around the whole area, nearly overnight. Forces were stationed on towers around the wall and all most magicals in the country escaped to this new magical super-city. Magicals from the Ukraine escaped their own country and joined the Russian magical community and the no-muggle zone was expanded further and further, eating up more of the land surrounding the once small magical community, and continually pushing back the muggle forces stationed there. Numerous attempts by the muggles were made to attack the city, but as more magicals occupied the area, their force and power only grew. The Russian government eventually ceased their attacks as the casualties on their side grew too great, and treaties were drawn up.

Tensions were high in many European Union countries as similar registration legislation was slowly passed in one country after another. Conflicts broke out in Turkey, Romania, and Italy by the early 2020's, as magical users banded together, demanding fair treatment, and protection by the government from the people. Magical races such as the Goblins went underground, using their own brand of magical power to tunnel themselves deeper than even the muggles could reach; leaving behind the witches and wizards to fend for themselves. The conflict in Russia was kept mostly quiet by the Russian government who did not want it getting out, just how badly they were losing to these magicals, but reports and whispers were often escaping the area, and it only served to grow tension, both on muggle and magical sides, in other countries.

In Great Britain, the magical community had been divided, just as in most all others, on how to tackle the problem of being exposed to the world, and the muggles growing demands and expectations of them. Some groups within the government made attempts to protect their rights, while others fell in line with the demands of the more vocal extremists in the muggle world who wanted anything from registration, tagging, and tracking, to isolation camps, to total extermination.

Exterminationists weren't officially taken 'seriously' in any of the 'modern nations' for quite some time, as they preferred to pretend such people were too few and too extremist to really make an impact, but it was a real and terrible problem in many other countries of the world. Unfortunately refugees from those countries were having a great deal of trouble as they were finding themselves unwelcome anywhere else, as borders were closed to any non-citizen magicals trying to come into a country.

Random outbreaks of violence as magicals defended themselves from muggles, or initiated attacks on their own, only served to raise tensions and fear. Paranoia ran rampant, and neighborhood witch hunts became common in smaller communities around the world. Hate groups that had been slowly dying out in most modern nations, got a sudden resurgence, as fear and misunderstanding lead to hate and violence.

Counter-groups and protests took place in favor of peace and cooperation and education programs sprang up in many areas, attempting to put an end to the fighting and oppression, but they mostly ended up treading water as many areas of various countries continued to suffer random attacks and riots from both sides.

In some countries, such as the Peoples Republic of China, early identification of muggleborns was mandated, and any child with magical tendencies discovered, was taken from the parents to places unknown and never seen again.

With the total exposure of their previously secret cities, villages, and shopping districts, many magicals escaped into the muggle world and attempted to 'blend in' to avoid notice. Any who didn't completely purge their homes and lives of all signs of magic were often eventually discovered. Out of fear for their lives and the safety of their families, many magicals resorted to giving up their magic and traditions, completely. There were those hold-outs for many years who tried to continue living their lives, and continued to try running their shops in the now exposed magical areas, but it was never an easy road to take, and eventually it became a deadly road to take.

There were always those among the muggles who were in awe of the magicals and their world, and some magical shopping districts even tried to cater to these muggle tourists, but terrorist raids from muggle extremist groups began to spring up, while attacks by groups of extremist wizards who lashed out at any witch or wizard who showed any friendliness or sympathies to muggles, became common as well.

Such groups, in fact, began to grow more and more in number as more time passed and it became increasingly obvious that many of the magical governments were giving in to every demand made by their muggle counterparts, and the people began to lose hope that their government would take any real action to help protect and defend them.

As these magical terrorist groups grew in number and grew in daring – going on to perform attacks on many of the muggle research centers that developed the technology that was defeating their wards and protective spells – the muggle response and fear grew as well. Public outcry spiked with various attacks, often destroying the magical governments weak attempts at treaties and peace agreements.

In 2028 a radically right-wing president was elected in the United States as tension and fear of increased violence surged. In one night, all magicals who had registered were rounded up without warning. Anti-magic suits and weapons were used to subdue individuals, wands were confiscated, and they were spirited off to isolated camps.

A huge violent uprising of magicals tried to rebel in the following weeks, but by this time, the muggles had been studying the magicals, their power, and the various magical creatures, for so many years, that they'd developed at least some level of counter or resistance to much of what the magicals tried. Muggle outcry in defense of the magicals resulted in protests and riots, but they were largely ignored and subdued.

A highly conservative Prime Minister that had been appointed in Great Britin a few years prior followed in the US's footsteps and any Magicals on record were rounded up and taken to isolated 'communities' where walls had been retrofitted with magical suppression devices. A number of European Union countries followed suit, while a select few had larger human-rights outcries that were horrified by these actions.

Only those that had been successful in blending into the muggle communities had managed to avoid the initial purges, but they lived in constant fear of exposure.

It would be 4 years later when a large force from Russia would gather and begin a series of large-scale attacks on camps in it's neighboring European Union countries.

During this time in the United States, human-rights groups will have finally gained enough ground and managed to amass enough public outcry in favor of the magicals to overpower the outrageously loud and vocal portion of the population that had been so instrumental in feeding the fear-mongering that had lead to the founding of the camps in the first place.

Congress and the House go through a radical transition from a conservative, tea-party majority, to a liberal democrat majority and a sweep of legislative changes lead to the camps being closed in most states.

Magical citizens are allowed to go home but bitter resentment is high. There is a huge shortage of wands and demand is high so many witches and wizards are left wandless for months after their release.

By this time, select countries who had never gone down the same anti-magic paths as many of their allies have become magical havens. Canada, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Japan, are among the countries that open their borders to any magical refugees and large communities are established by the magicals there.

Witches and Wizards self-impose isolation in most of these places mostly out of fear. Out of the witches or wizards who had been ripped from their homes and placed in camps, all heirlooms were lost. Everything of a magical nature confiscated during that time was burned or otherwise destroyed.

It is worth noting that over the course of the years directly after the magical communities were first discovered, it was hardly a constant state of battle and fear. Magical civilization was not destroyed overnight, but very slowly.

In Britain, the Magical Ministry remained 'functional' for over a decade. The various departments within the Ministry continued to function; people still went to work and still did their jobs. Shops in Diagon Alley and other small magical districts valiantly attempted to stay open. People still went to shops when things were calm. Students still went to Hogwarts.

Things degenerated slowly, with small pockets of violence that would upset the otherwise uneasy balancing act that existed in between.

Attacks by muggles on wizards were sporadic at best and never expected. People were never prepared.

Attacks by wizards against muggles were just as random, although often devastating and resulted in nasty backlashes in the public and political arena. Many witches and wizards felt as if they were constantly walking a tightrope, trying not to earn the notice and anger of the much larger populace of muggles, so these magical acts of violence were often deeply resented by those who were afraid. On the other side of the argument were those who felt that, as magical beings, they were far superior to the muggles and should stand up and both defend themselves and demand proper deference by the muggles.

Many of the wizarding groups in Britain who stood up to the muggle oppression called themselves the new Death Eaters, and bitter memories of the wizarding war of the 70's and 90's made the rest of the public even less inclined to follow their example, hoping instead that patience and non-violent negotiations would eventually lead to things evening out and calming down.

Instead the violence and oppression only slowly escalated. Growing worse and worse so slowly that it was like putting a toad in water and slowly boiling it to death. If you had dropped the toad in the water when it was already boiling, it would jump out instantly, but putting it in the water and bringing it to a slow boil, doomed the toad to a slow, painful, death.

During Harry's first life, he was an Auror – he went to work and did his best to keep the peace. He worked to keep violence down and tracked down and captured witches and wizards responsible for attacks on muggles. His kids all managed to graduate from Hogwarts, but by the time his youngest had graduated, things were getting far too harrowing and they all took their families into hiding. The Magical Ministry of Britain collapsed the same year that Albus graduated from Hogwarts, and along with it, the Aurors disbanded.

Harry and his oldest son, James, both participated heavily in various evacuation efforts and programs to help other magicals go into hiding. And in 2029, Harry and his friends and family helped other magicals stay hidden from the forced relocation into camps that had been instituted by the new conservative parliament and Prime Minister.

Harry and his family were all well-practiced in living in the muggle-world and helped others 'disappear' into the muggle world.

In 2031, Albus Severus participated in a raid, along with Scorpius Malfoy and others, against one of the camps in Britain. He was hurt in the process, but managed to escape alive. The group managed to free a handful of those in the camp, but not all. Over the next year, Harry never knew for sure where his youngest son was or if he was even alive, as he continued to participate in an underground resistance group.

Harry worked primarily in another version of an underground that existed solely to hide witches and wizards from the muggles and help them escape Britain to one of the magically-friendly countries remaining in the world. His daughter and her fiancee moved to New Zealand at the same time as most of the remaining Weasley Clan.

Harry remained behind until the camps were finally disbanded by the muggle government under pressure from global free rights advocates that sprang up in violent reaction to the forced relocation.

After the camps were disbanded, Harry found Albus and convinced him to move to New Zealand as well – finally the last of the family left with him, and by 2037 they had all left Britain.

While things had managed to stabilize for Harry and his close friends and family in their new home, much of the rest of the world remained in turmoil for many decades to come.

Hermione continued to head up magical-rights movements in other countries, frequently traveling abroad, and occasionally roping Harry into going with her on some of her missions.

Monumental human-rights violations continued for many years, as well as occasional escalation and occasional cessation in violence levels in different countries and different times.

Albus left New Zealand several times to travel to various places around the world experiencing notable rises in violence against magicals and disappeard for months to years on end without contacting the rest of the family or ever fully telling them just what he was doing.

By the time Harry died of old age, in 2130, anti-magical prejudice had finally lessened to the point where it was nearly gone as several generations of muggles had now grown up in a world where magicals were so common factor in their existences that they had never really personally known a world where magicals weren't known about. The camps and violence were now stories for their history lessons, and nothing more than a memory from a markedly dark time in human history. In all major countries, magicals were no longer refused jobs or housing on any regular basis, nor did they live in constant fear of violence or persecution. They were no longer denied their wands or their books, and their abilities were no more banned by legislation than anyone who might wield a weapon. It was monitored to certain levels and licenses and accreditation was required, but to no more extensive a level than magical communities had enforced upon themselves before the great exposure.

Many older magicals still held bitter resentment about the dark time in their history, but the younger generation of wizards were beginning to move beyond some of the painful memories that their parents still held.

The unfortunate result, by this time, was the almost total obliteration of the magical traditions of most nations. The one remaining stronghold of magical knowledge and ancient artifacts by this point was the one free magical nation on the world – Baykal – a large chunk in the center of what was once Russia, along the north-western side of lake Baykal, extending North and West to encompass a total of 56,000 square miles (or 147,000 square km), the equivalent size to the nation of nepal, and with a population of nearly 26 million magicals.

Baykal, despite harsh weather, managed to become the world capitol for all magicals and many who continued to hold resentment for the treatment they had experienced at the hands of the muggles, made the move to Baykal to seek a reliable refuge and a place where they could still practice their ancient culture and traditions without the influence brought about by the forced annihilation of those traditions, in much of the rest of the world.

– – –

AN: Hey all – I know this isn't what you all actually want (namely, the next chapter) however it is something that I wanted to get out there anyway, as I've received a few reviews that led me to feel that I haven't really given a very clear view of just what Harry's first life was actually like, and what sort of progression really transpired over the course of his longer lives.

The next chapter is already in progress and sort of outlined. Hopefully I'll manage to find some good chunks of time to work on it and actually get it written.

– – –

A few responses to questions -

Question: What is Harry aiming to do in this life again? He can't wipe out all the muggles or even most of them, they're still going to eventually be exposed and end up fighting, and eventually there's going to be peace.

My Response:

I would say that one of his goals is to establish a fortified, independent, magical city-state much like what was formed in Russia. And he wants to do it very early. He's not trying to save the world, or stop the exposure from ever happening - he's given up on that as a pipe dream - but he wants to save Magical Britain, at the very least. It's his home. He would like for others in other countries to make moves to try and save their own homes and communities, but he's not deluding himself into thinking he can save everyone. He's tried that before, and its simply too big a project for one man or even one group, to tackle. When he has spread himself too thin, he's done no good anywhere. He's decided to focus on one thing that he thinks he actually has a chance of saving.

One of the reasons that so few people followed in the Russian's foosteps is because it was mostly kept quiet. The Russians didn't want others to know and worked hard to downplay what was going on in the conflict.

Even those magicals in higher positions who knew the truth were afraid that if the muggle world as a whole heard about the devastation that these magicals in Russia were causing, that the muggle fear and paranoia would only crease several fold, bringing about even more oppression, regulation, and control. So they actually worked to keep this information secret as well.

People like Dumbledore, and at this time, Harry himself, were dedicated to trying to bring all of this conflict to an end with the fewest number of casualties. They were dedicated to a peaceful resolution and were dead set on using negotiations, and public education, to try and put a stop to the violence.

They were all very angry with those who did resort to violence, and it was a frequent source of contention between much of Harry's family, and Albus, who felt that taking action was the only thing that would really work, even if it meant people had to die in the process.

– – –

Comment: Lots of typos in this one

Response:

Heh -yeah, this one was written in a bit of a rush and I didn't have time to do a more thorough proof read pass last night as I was crunched at the last minute but still wanted to post it. I'll probably try to go over it again at some point for a better clean-up pass. It's not even really a chapter, and I was partially tempted to just post it separately or not post it at all. It was mostly a response to two or three reviews and PMs I've gotten recently with questions relating to this.

Harry has told Voldemort the real truth about the 'history' he's lived, and he's honest with Draco, but the reader never gets to hear those versions. The only version of the 'future' that the reader has heard are the versions he's given to Sirius and Dumbledore, which are highly skewed for the sake of various manipulation goals. So I realized I'd sort of been leaving out details and making them a bit confusing.

I need to figure out a better way to incorporate the more accurate accounts into the actual story, but haven't worked out how - lol. So instead, I ended up writing an 8 page interlude/history lesson in the span of 2 hours - leaving it all sorts of a typo-ridden mess. Oh well.


	22. Chapter 21

AN: It was ridiculously difficult to find the time to work on this chapter. Seriously. I kept getting tiny windows where I'd sit down to write, get like a couple paragraphs in, and then something would come along (usually my kids) and I'd have to set my macbook down and tend to whatever they needed. This happened enough that whole sections felt awful and disjointed, so then I'd just go back a couple pages, delete it, and start over to get a better flow.

So it took ages. Bleh.

In return for the long wait, though, you get an extra long chapter. It's 25 pages long, where as my normal chapters are around 18-ish. Enjoy.

– –

_One change always leaves the way prepared for the introduction of another._

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Harry and Lucius appeared in the atrium of the Ministry with a subtle crack that was muffled considerably by the general din that echoed through the large open space filled with so many people. The pair wasted little time in moving forward as, anyone who had ever spent any time in the Ministry knew that loitering in the incoming apparition area was a great way to end up squashed beneath the next person to come in.

Lucius walked with the brisk grace of someone who had trekked these halls many times before; clacking his ornate cane with each of his wide strides. Harry followed him with a bland, disinterested expression on his face, seemingly ignoring those they passed that turned and stared or pointed in his direction.

The reactions were varied among those who took notice of him. There were a few individuals who were scowling rather deeply, but far more common were the looks of surprise or excitement and even a few bordering on _awe_. People leaned in and whispered excitedly, while others pulled on the sleeves of those near them and pointed to draw their attention.

Harry and Lucius reached the lifts without having anyone actually approach them, and for that Harry was slightly relieved, but it turned out that this streak of luck was destined to end rather quickly. The lift came to a stop on level 2 – Wizengamot Administration Services – and the pair stepped out just in time to run directly into Minister Cornelius Fudge. Quite literally.

"Watch where you're goi–oh! Lucius, pardon me! Things have been outrageously hectic here today, you wouldn't belie..." Fudge trailed off as his eyes slowly fell away from Lucius' face and down, upon the face of one Harry Potter, standing directly to Lucius' left. The Minister's expression that had been the very definition of a pandering politician's artificial smile, morphed quickly into one you would expect to find on someone who was busy sucking on a lemon. "Oh – who's this? Is this... is this _Harry Potter?_ Ah, yes, yes... I had heard –" he trailed off again and his gaze shot back to Lucius and a tight, forced smile smeared its way across his face.

"Cornelius," Lucius drawled in greeting, "What an unexpected pleasure it is to run into you this fine day. And yes, you are correct – this is Harry Potter; my new ward."

"New ward? Yes, I had heard something along those lines. Something about _Dumbledore_ actually trying to gain the boy's custody, actually. Outrageous, really..."

"Yes, quite," Harry added in with a bland smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Minster."

"A pleasure... yes," Fudge said with a very forced smile that looked far more like a grimace than anything actually resembling a smile. "You know, young man... you have been personally responsible for a great deal of trouble around here today," Fudge said, pinning Harry with an annoyed, reprimanding, sort of glare.

"Oh?" Harry said back, innocently.

"Yes, _oh_. That little _letter_ of yours has gotten the public in all sorts of a temper! There have been howlers coming in all morning! All sorts of outrageous accusations and threats. It's been downright terrible, the trouble that one little article from a _child_ can cause. I don't know how exactly you got them to print such a dangerous bit of writing, young man, but –"

"Oh, it was quite easy, Minister," Harry said, tilting his head low and looking up at the man through his fringe. "It's really just a matter of knowing the right people. Surely _you_ understand something as simple as that. Having connections in powerful places can make a world of difference in getting what you _want_."

Fudge seemed to falter for a moment as if he hadn't been expecting that sort of response, at all. A moment later his expression hardened. "Now look here, Mr. Potter – I don't care how advanced for your age everyone seems to say you are, you are still a child and children should know better than to try and meddle in the affairs of adults! You have no idea how far reaching the repercussions of what you've done here today, are! Do you even understand the trouble you've caused for people!? These are not games that you can just play – throwing around words left and right without thinking of how people might really react! They –"

"Minister Fudge," Harry said with enough force to cut the man off, mid-rant, "you are mistaken if you think that I have anything but the fullest understanding of just what my words could do. I was fully aware that what I've said would cause a great many people – you included – _trouble_, as you put it. That was my intention."

"Your _intention!?"_ the man exclaimed with a mixture of shock and anger. "Look here, young man – this is not a children's game you're playing at here, this is–"

"Not a game at all. And you might want to be a bit more careful in how you choose to treat me, Minister Fudge, all things considered." Harry said sharply, and Fudge blanched as if he'd been slapped.

The man's jaw floundered and his brow puckered with confusion for a moment. "How _I _treat _you? _Do you know who _I am?_ Just who do you think you are!?"

Harry eyed the man for a moment before giving the man a mock-surprised look. "Minister, I'm stunned that a man in your position wouldn't be a bit more aware of just what sorts of political goings on are happening around him," Harry said in a light, condescending tone. "I understand you're busy and have a lot of things on your plate, but you really ought to scold your staff for not making sure that you were aware of just what's happening in the Wizengamot."

"I – what? Of course I'm perfectly aware of what's going on in the Wizengamot! What nonsense are you making up?!"

"So you _are_ aware of how many seats I hold in the House of Lords?" Harry asked with false relief.

"House of – but you're just fourteen! And even if you _could_ use them, I hardly see how one child with a few inherited seats has any right to think himself so important that he can just do whatever he wants without any regard for the consequences of his actions!" he snapped. "I've been doing this since you were in primary school, Mr. Potter, and one arrogant child is not going to make me start changing my policy and the way I do my job!"

"Fourteen."

"That's what I said – fourteen years old –"

"No. I have fourteen seats," Harry said as if explaining something to a small child and then smirked darkly. "All to myself. You really didn't know, Minster? My, you really _should_ do something about your staff. They clearly aren't doing their jobs to make sure you stay well informed of the goings on, around you. After all, the Minister is appointed by proving that he holds the confidence of the House of Lords and the House of Commons. You would think that they'd make keeping track of the goings on there a high priority. Especially considering that next fall is an _election_ year."

Fudge faltered considerably this time, gaping at Harry with wide, stunned eyes. There were only 77 seats in the Wizengamot, and quite a few of those had been dormant for a great many years now. Only about 48 seats were actively voted on any regular basis, and even quite a few of those didn't show up to every session. Fudge knew_ that_, and knowing that Harry, standing before him, single-handedly held 17% of the total number of seats available in the Wizengamot – not even taking into account how many of them weren't being voted anymore, was clearly quite a shock.

Lucius held six seats, and _that_ was considered a large number. Only a few other families held that number of seats, and some of them were dormant, like the Blacks, whose seats hadn't been voted for over a decade.

The House of Commons was made up of witches and wizards elected by the people and each representative stood for their district. The people in each district – magical villages and muggle villages with large magical populations – were able to place votes for the Magical Minister and whatever the majority result for that district was, determined which candidate that their representative member of the House of Commons used his one vote for. But a single person in the House of Lords could use their votes for whomever they wanted, regardless of public opinion. The system gave the illusion that the people had some say in who was elected as Minister but the reality of the matter was that it was decided by the House of Lords.

"F-fourteen?" Fudge whispered.

"Yes, Minister. _Fourteen_. But as you said, I have not yet reached my majority, and can't personally vote my seats myself. My legal guardian, however, can vote them for me. Thus, it should be obvious why I didn't want to risk Dumbledore or anyone who might be loyal to him, gaining any controlling interest over me. Lucius, however, was far more amenable to an agreement that I could be pleased with."

Fudge's brows raised even further into his forehead with dawning understanding and more surprise, before his gaze flicked back over to Lucius who merely looked on blandly, giving nothing away as to how he were feeling at the moment.

Relief then flashed through Fudge's eyes because he knew that Lucius had always been a reliable supporter of he and his campaign. He'd always made it a point to heed Lucius Malfoy's advice, and give the man as much time as he wanted, whenever he wanted it, because of the power, wealth and influence, the man held. Not to mention the sway he held over a number of the other Wizengamot members – both Lords and Commons. Fudge had gone to a great deal of trouble to stay on _Lucius'_ good side, and if _he_ now held control over _fourteen _newly reactivated seats – well, it could only help Fudge in the end! In fact, an additional fourteen seats would nearly hand him the election. He would hardly have to lift a finger if he could guarantee those votes along with those he already felt secure in their loyalties!

"In fact, Minister, Mr. Malfoy and I are on our way to the Wizengamot Administration office right now, to assign a party affiliation to my seats. I've already filled out the proper paperwork to give Lucius permission to vote them, but this part has to be done in person, since only I can ever do it," Harry went on.

"Ah – yes, yes. Oh, a party affiliation, you say? I dare say your seats have probably remained dormant since your parents' unfortunate death, but before that time they were... Whig seats, I would guess?" Fudge said.

"Mmm, the ones from my father definitely were. The ones that were willed to me by various other individuals are a bit of a mix, but most of them were Whigs the last time they were registered with a party affiliation."

"And now they'll be – ?"

"Tory, of course," Harry said with a small dip of his head and a grin.

"Ah... ahhh..." Fudge said once and then much slower the second as a few cogs began to turn in his head. "Fourteen new seats registered as Tory...?"

Harry's grin slowly grew wider as Fudge put the pieces together.

"My... that means that... the Tories will become the new majority. Dumbledore's position as Head of the Wizengamot will be stripped! And the Tory leader is –" His head snapped to the side and he gazed at Lucius who was now smirking, quite smugly. "The Tory leader will be the new Head of the Wizengamot," Fudge whispered.

"That is – _correct_," Lucius drawled with smug satisfaction.

Harry smirked up at him before turning his gaze back to Fudge.

"Since it is _my_ seats and _my_ choice alone to designate of them as Tory, that is giving Mr. Malfoy the opportunity to finally gain such a position of power, he and I made an agreement of sorts," Harry said drawing back Fudge's stunned gaze. "The agreement is simple – I have total control over how my votes are voted. Always. Even if we were to disagree on something, it doesn't matter – my seats will still be voted the way that _I _want them to be voted, and he goes on voting his own seats however he wants, but now also has the added power wielded by the Head of the Wizengamot. We both benefit – Mr. Malfoy gains the position of power he wants, and I get control over my seats earlier than I would have otherwise. Early enough, in fact, to vote in the next election for Minister – fancy that?"

"Yes... I see..." Fudge said in a stunned whisper and the light of dawning horror began to flicker in his eyes.

"So perhaps now, Minister, you can see a bit more clearly just why you might not want to toss aside the validity of my opinion so quickly. Even though I may be _young_ – I am hardly _stupid_, Minister Fudge.

Fudge nodded his head very slowly as his mind whirled over just how awful this could potentially be for his campaign. Finally, he snapped his mouth shut, having just realized he was gaping like a fish, and twisted and turned around, checking the empty hall for any observers. He was no doubt relieved that this particular level was rarely used when the Wizengamot wasn't in session, but he still pulled out his wand and with an obviously practiced grace, erected a local-area privacy ward around the three of them. He turned his gaze back on Harry and his expression was far more determined now.

"What do you want, Mr. Potter?"

"What do I want?" Harry asked with mock surprise, "I think I made that fairly clear in my letter to the Prophet."

"But – but that's just – it's just not feasible! We can't just start letting people teach their children whatever they want, whenever they want it! There has to be some sort of order!"

"Decriminalizing underage magic is only the beginning, Minister," Harry said, smirking up at him. "I want magical primary schools, and early introduction of muggleborns."

"Primary schools?! Early – m-_muggleborns?" _he sputtered before glancing over at Lucius with an incredulous expression on his face.

Lucius turned his head slightly to the side with a slightly displeased, but otherwise disinterested, expression on his face.

Fudge turned back to Harry. "Well that's all well and good to just _say_ you want it, Mr. Potter, but things like that are complicated and the proper processes must be followed to enact such drastic changes!"

"During the winter session, Madam Hodges early-youth education bill was passed – you _are_ familiar with it, aren't you?"

"I've – I've _heard of_ it, of course! I'm not familiar with all of the details, precisely, but I believe it had something to do with early literacy programs or some such thing. What does that have to do with this?"

"Well, as it just so happens, it has been a long-standing problem that each year, anywhere from one to ten, first years enter Hogwarts nearly, if not _completely_, _illiterate_ because their parents refused to send them to a primary school where they would have to learn side-by-side with muggles, and taught a purely muggle curriculum. Many magical families keep their children at home or band together for small neighborhood schools run out of one witch's home, but there are always those that can't afford even that, and so their children go without a proper fundamental education. Madam Hodges bill proposed the founding of three small primary schools in magically-dominated villages that would only accept magical children.

"The curriculum proposed is mostly inline with the education standards of the muggle schools, but these schools would also include a section on magical history. Hopefully this will serve to make up for some of the astonishingly abysmal history marks Britain's children have continually suffered since Hogwarts' History of Magic professor died but retained his teaching position.

"The bill is already through and the funding and budget has already been established for the three new schools. Construction has already begun on the one in Whiltshire, and the one in Devon near Ottery St. Catchpole is scheduled to begin construction in two months. It would be a very simple matter for an introductory children's magic class to be added to these three schools."

Fudge gaped at him in astonishment.

"And Lady Samantha Bridges introduced a bill during the winter session that will be voted on during the summer session to increase the funding to the Department of Muggleborn Identification and Affairs, since it has been horribly underfunded for years now – so much so that they have trouble keeping track of the incidences of underage magic performed by muggleborns, that might draw enough notice from muggles to warrant memory modification. I would like to introduce an amendment to the bill that would expand the department even further to the point where it is responsible, not just for the identification and monitoring of the muggleborn children, but the introduction of their parents to our world, when the children are only a few years old.

"Education programs for the parents so that they know what their children are; what they can do; what their accidental magic outbursts _actually are_, and of course, making sure that their children are educated in our ways by attending the primary schools being built. In addition to that, I want the Department of Magical Children's Welfare and the Aurors to gain the authority to remove children from their homes should evidence arise that their muggle parents or guardians are grossly mistreating their magical offspring due to fear or a lack of understanding."

Fudge's face went almost completely devoid of color at this last statement. "The Whigs would never stand for such legislation. They would be up-in-arms the moment they caught wind of any legislation that authorized the removal of magical children from their muggle parents!" Fudge hissed in an almost fearful, warning, tone.

"I know, Minister," Harry said reassuringly. "I have plans for that – don't you worry. It's not something I intend to move on right away anyway. Next winter's session at the earliest, but it's more likely that the first moves in that direction won't take place until next summer. I'm more interested in getting the magical education program in the new schools started right away. It's all setup, nice and clean, already, Minister. You just have to lend your support."

Fudge pinned Harry with a rather shocked look as if he were seeing Harry for the first time. No doubt the man was wondering at the possibility that Harry himself, could have been behind either of those bills he'd just described. The mere idea seemed ludicrous – Harry was only fourteen after all, and Madam Hodge's bill had been in the works for at least a year by this point.

Fudge's expression hardened and he frowned rather deeply at Harry. "Magical Great Britain's law enforcement relies very heavily on wand control, Mr. Potter. I cannot say with any certainty that what you suggest would be in the best interested of the realm, no matter what it is that _you_ want. The people may have gotten themselves into a tizzy right now over your article, but that won't necessarily last!"

"Oh, I assure you, Minister – I will _not_ let the issue die," Harry said, dipping his head and looking up at fudge over the tops of his glasses and through his fringe with a fire in his eyes that promised what he said. "The laws in place right now were enacted a very long time ago – long before your administration came into power, and you cannot rightfully be blamed for the way things are. You _can_ be held publicly accountable for standing in the way of progress. But you can also be hailed as the leader that stood up for the rights and the demands of the _people, _rather than holding fast to an old arrangement that only benefited those in power at the detriment of the people. Perhaps it could even be powerful enough to save your tenure as Minister from the still rather nasty blemish it suffered after the devastating scandal with Sirius Black's illegal imprisonment."

Fudge grimaced deeply at the reminder before looking Harry in the eye with obvious annoyance. "You have given me a lot to think about, Mr. Potter."

"I would certainly hope so, Minister," Harry replied with a sort of mock sincerity.

"Well... this little – _encounter_, has been – _pleasant_," Fudge said with forced politeness, "but as I said when we first ran into each other, this morning has been quite hectic and I still have a lot to deal with."

"Oh, of course, Minister. You are undoubtedly a very busy man," Harry replied.

Fudge grimaced slightly with a hint of annoyance at Harry before pulling it into a very forced, tight smile. "Yes, well – good day to you, Mr. Potter. Lucius." He nodded at Lucius who bowed his head slightly.

"Good day to you as well, Cornelius."

Fudge finally turned and walked past the pair of them, dispelling the privacy ward, and making his way into the lift.

"Well, that was fun," Harry said, grinning widely. Lucius looked at him speculatively for a moment before a smirk managed to curl the corner of his lips.

"Yes. Definitely interesting."

"Shall we actually get to what we came here to do, then?" Harry asked, gesturing down the hall.

"Yes, I think that would be for the best."

– –

_It is impossible to explain one's self properly when in doubt and indecision as to what is to be done; but once resolved and decided, it is easy to find suitable words. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

A resounding crack echoed through the hall as Harry and Lucius made their appearance in the entry hall of Malfoy Manor.

Harry stretched one arm over his head, pulling it back with the other and twisting his neck to the side until it made a popping sound that made Lucius look over at him and grimace deeply.

Harry let out a relieved sounding groan and let his arm fall down while twisting his head back and forth slightly. "Merlin, I hate side-along apparition," Harry said with a sigh. "Although, I hate dealing with rubbish paperwork at the Ministry even more, so I'm glad both are over with."

A small pop echoed in the room and both wizards turned their attention to its source as a house elf – one Harry was, of course, very familiar with in fact – appeared.

"Master has returned with Mr. Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said as he bowed low but kept his head up so he could look at them. "Young Master Draco is sayings he's being needings to speak with both of yous as soon as you arrived!"

"Oh?" Harry said, curiously.

"Yes, Harry Potter Sir," Dobby said, nodding his head vigorously and causing his huge bat-like ears to flop around ridiculously. "Young Master Draco is beings in the drawing room. He's been waitings for you –"

"Father, Harry – you're back," Draco said, walking into the entry hall at a brisk pace and cutting Dobby off mid sentence.

"Take my cloak, elf," Lucius said walking forward, looking at Draco and not bothering to even glance at Dobby while basically dropping the cloak onto his head as he passed.

"Yes, Master," Dobby said as he quickly straightened out the cloak and turned to Harry. "Is Mr. Harry Potter sir needings Dobby to take anything?"

"No, Dobby, thank you. You can go," Harry said and Dobby bowed quickly and vanished. Harry turned his attention on Draco. "The elf said you needed to speak with us?"

"Yes, the – the Dark Lord was here when mother and I arrived," Draco said standing tall and trying valiantly to hide how unsettled he still was from his encounter.

"What did he want? He knew that Lucius and I would be at the Ministry," Harry asked, frowning slightly in confusion.

"He... he wished to speak with – _me_, actually," Draco said.

Lucius' eyes widened. "With _you?_"

Harry's frown deepened and his brow puckered in confusion for all of a moment before understanding flashed in his eyes, quickly followed by exasperation. "What did he do?" Harry asked sounding both annoyed and resigned.

"He had me sign a secrecy contract," Draco grumbled.

"You Dark Lord came to _you _for something and had you sign a contract that prevents you from telling _us_ what it was?" Lucius said incredulously, misinterpreting Draco's statement.

"No," Harry said, "he had Draco sign a secrecy contract because of what I revealed to Draco about a week ago," Harry rolled his eyes. "I gave Draco the option of my telling him without the safety net of a secrecy contract and he took it. I told Mar–_the Dark Lord_ – a few days ago and he and I had a bit of a row about it. Circe, I'm sorry Draco, I should have just had something drawn up and had you sign it. Then you wouldn't have had to deal with _him_ instead. No doubt he did everything in his power to intimidate the hell out of you. I really should have seen this coming."

"Harry, it's hardly your fault," Draco insisted.

"What, pray tell, is it that you revealed to my son a week ago that the Dark Lord did not approve of?" Lucius asked, looking clearly displeased.

"Oh, just some details about myself," Harry said dismissively. "But they're details of a rather sensitive nature, and the Dark Lord didn't quite approve of me allowing the information to get into the hands of, I quote, 'a child', even though they're my secrets to tell, and I do, as a matter of fact, trust Draco to keep them for me. The Dark Lord, of course, is not nearly so trusting with sensitive information, so really – I should have seen this coming."

Harry paused and sent Draco an apologetic sort of grimace. "So how awful was the contract?"

Draco grimaced rather deeply in response, but didn't actually say anything.

"That bad, huh?" Harry said with a grimace that was a mix between apologetic and amused. "Look, I'll have my solicitor draw up something more reasonable. Once it's ready, I'll drag him here and we can perform the ritual to dissolve the contract he forced down your throat, and you can sign the one I have put together instead."

Draco's eyes widened in fear and he shook his head. "Harry, you don't have to do that! He's the _Dark Lord!_ I already signed the agreement he gave me, I don't want him to think that I – that I _complained_ to you about it or something!"

"You don't want him angry with you – I get it. He can be scary as hell when he feels inclined to be so – don't worry Draco. He's not going to get angry with _you_ over this – this is my thing. He should have consulted me first anyway. So was there anything else, or did he just come by to force the contract down your gullet?"

Draco swallowed and nodded his head. "There was something else. He... he said that he wanted you to visit him at his manor at your earliest convenience."

Harry nodded thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, that's fine. I didn't really have anything planned for the rest of the day, other than unpacking, and I need to tell him about what happened at the Ministry and with Dumbledore anyway. We can save our little Dumbledore bashing session until I come back, okay?"

Draco gave a weak laugh and nodded. "I suppose I can wait," Draco drawled in a put-upon tone that was rather weak and forced thanks to his still somewhat frayed nerves.

Harry turned to Lucius then and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well, looks like my suffering from repeated side-along apparitions isn't over for the day, after all. I'll be needing you to give me a lift to his manor. I've never been there before."

"Yes, of course. Shall we leave now?"

"Yeah, may as well – no wait. Hang on, I've got to get something first." Harry turned and looked at Draco, "are my trunks in the same room I used when I stayed over the holidays?"

"Yes. I had one of the elves take them as soon as Mother and I returned home from the train station."

"Great, I'll be right back," Harry said and quickly jogged from the entry hall in the direction of the wing that held he and Draco's rooms.

The two blonds remained standing in silence for several seconds after that before Draco turned to look at his father, hesitantly.

"The Dark Lord – he... has his magic always been so... _intense?_"

Lucius' face remained passive for several seconds before the corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he nodded. "Mostly. It's actually more impressive now than it was when I was first taken into his service in my youth. Although it was still monumentally overwhelming, even then."

"Wait – so now he's even more powerful than he was before?" Draco gasped.

"Quite so."

Draco looked away with a pensive expression on his face for several moments. "It was... incredible," Draco said with shaky awe.

"He is a truly astounding wizard."

"How can he hide it? His power, I mean. I never would have known from when I met him at the ball. _Never_ would have guessed..."

Lucius gave him a commiserating sort of look. "He managed to hide it, even from my and my fellows. That's one area he seems to have advanced in quite a lot since when I joined his cause in my youth. I cannot say for sure if he was less able to hide it then, or simply less inclined to bother. But what he does now is astonishing, even to me, and I have been practicing magical masking since before even attending Hogwarts, just as I have taught you as well.

"The Dark Lord hides his true power with a truly tremendous skill and control. There are lesser wizards who are fortunate enough to be blessed with larger wells of magic than their peers, but who have never mastered control over that power, or hold any ability to wield that power with any skill. They walk about, practically shouting with their magic, wasting energy pointlessly with inefficient flashy spell-casting and absolutely no finesse at all."

"I know we've always covered how important it is to mask your true power from others, and I've always continued to practice the techniques we covered during my occlumency lessons, but – but – _this is insane!_ How can anyone so completely mask _that much power?_" Draco asked in a hushed exclamation of disbelief.

"Now I think you are beginning to understand why it was so easy for me to commit myself to following him and his cause, in my youth," Lucius said with a small smirk.

Draco nodded his head slowly. "Yes... I think I am."

"Alright, I'm back," Harry's voice came through the hall as he trotted back towards them. Draco gave him a rather bewildered look as he saw that Harry had changed his clothes – but not into something more impressive or proper, but instead into something that appeared rather obviously ill fitting.

"What are you wearing?" Draco exclaimed in horror as Harry came to a stop while holding up his overly-long pants with his hand at his waist to keep them from falling down. He had a somewhat worn old rucksack slung over his shoulder. But potentially worse of all was that his shirt was a _muggle tshirt!_

"Hang on," Harry said, raising his hand and holding up his finger to indicate Draco wait. It was at this point that Draco also noticed that Harry was holding a potion vial in that hand as well.

Harry used his thumb to pop off a cork in the top of the vial and in one swift motion, tipped it up to his lips to down the contents of it. The violent pink fluid seemed to ooze out of the container and when it was finally all gone Harry grimaced something awful.

"What did you just drink?" Draco asked with worry in his voice but Harry was obviously not in the best position to answer as he bent over slightly, putting his hands on his knees to support himself as his body suddenly began to stretch and grow at a tremendous rate. His skin looked pulled thin in certain areas until it began to catch up with the rest of him. His hair grew longer, but at a slower rate than the rest of him; facial hair sprouted out of his chin and jaw but at a semi-irregular rate; his muscles popped out at strange intervals, and his bones made popping and cracking sounds that caused Draco to cringe and flinch several times.

The transformation seemed to stop quite suddenly, leaving Harry panting for several seconds before he stood up with a groan and began to twist and stretch his neck and shoulders. Draco and Lucius both stood there gaping at him while he took a moment to stand on one foot with his arms out, testing his balance for a moment before switching to the other and repeating the gesture.

"No matter how many times I do that, I don't think I'll ever get used to it," Harry muttered after hopping up and down on both toes a few times. "Sorry – gotta get used to the change in size or I'll just end up tripping over my own feet the second I try to walk," he said, grinning at their still dumbfounded expressions.

"You're older," Draco stated.

Harry grinned in amusement at Draco. "Yes, Draco. I drank an aging potion. They make people older," Harry spoke in a tone one would use when speaking with a child, making Draco give him an annoyed glare.

"Why, _exactly_, did you do this?" Lucius asked warily, still looking rather starkly shocked.

"To hell if I'm going to the Dark Lord's manor as a _fourteen_ year old," Harry scoffed. "Besides, if there's any place I'll be spending time in, this summer, that I'm actually permitted to wear a more comfortable skin and not have to worry about what people think, it's _there_. My summers have always been spent primarily in my older bodies – I spent my entire summer in France last year, in this age – which I guess is around twenty-five-ish? I'd do the same thing again this summer if I thought I could get away with it, but you might get visitors who would be expecting me to be – _me_ at age fourteen – so I know that's not really an option. But I still would like to slip into something more comfortable whenever the opportunity arises – like now. I even had to brew a special version of my potion that would only last about half a day, instead of my normal recipe which can last a couple weeks."

"An aging potion that can last _two weeks?"_ Draco said. "I've never heard of anything like that!"

"Of course not – I haven't published it anywhere yet," Harry said with a smirk.

"You invented it?" Draco replied, impressed.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Harry said with a small mock bow.

"I can't help but wonder, Mr. Potter, what _necessity_ could have led you to frequently needing long-lasting aging potions?" Lucius drawled and the glint of intense curiosity shone bright in his eyes.

Harry shrugged. "I raised myself. People don't like to rent flats to children. People don't like to sell groceries to children. A young child that seems to be living alone tends to draw attention from neighbors who then proceed to call children's services, who then proceed to stick their unwanted noses into my private affairs. All very inconvenient things that can be avoided easily if I'm simply,_ not a child._"

"You raised _yourself?_" Lucius replied skeptically. "From how young an age, exactly?"

Harry grinned. "Since my parents died, of course."

"You were _one,"_ Lucius stated with obvious disbelief.

"So?"

"A one-year old cannot just raise themselves, nor can they brew potions," Lucius pointed out while looking at Harry with narrowed eyes.

Harry merely grinned wider. "I did."

"Mr. Potter –"

"Father," Draco said, cutting his father off and gaining him a wide-eyed and clearly annoyed, look from his father. Draco swallowed before straightening up again. "Father just... for now... let it go. Harry told me the truth and the next thing I know the Dark Lord comes threatening to obliviate me."

Lucius' face flushed with annoyance and frustration and Harry could see his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. No doubt, the knowledge that his _son_ even knew the whole truth behind these riddles, and yet he himself was being denied the information, was rather infuriating.

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry yourself, Lucius. I actually intend to fill you in on all those burning questions sometime soon. Probably before the summer is out. I'll have a secrecy contract drawn up for you when I have one made for Draco, so you won't have to worry about the Dark Lord shoving a contract of his own down _your _throat. Although, admittedly, he's got you Marked, so there's less need for secrecy contracts in your case."

Lucius' gaze snapped back to Harry. "Why wait? You told Draco without the contract in place to start. Do you not _trust me?" _he said with faux hurt.

Harry burst out laughing for a moment, earning him an annoyed scowl. Harry then gave the man a somewhat devious smile. "Oh, it's not about trust at _all, _Lucius. Actually, I trust that I understand you and your motives well enough that I probably _could_ tell you the truth, and not be worried at all. The reason I'm not going to tell you right now, isn't about trust - it's because I'm not done having _fun_ with you yet."

Lucius was clearly not amused if the cold, deadpan that followed, was any indication. "I can't honestly say which is more infuriating. Putting up with your snark as a child, or hearing it coming from you as an adult."

Harry laughed again before turning slightly so he could look into one of the ornate gilded mirrors that hung on the wall behind him.

"Speaking of _being an adult_," Harry said trailing off as he pulled out his wand with his right hand while his left came up and brushed over his face and chin. He had acquired quite a bit of very rough looking facial hair during the transformation process, but with a quick unspoken spell and a flick of his hand, the hair vanished from his face, leaving him perfectly clean-shaven.

He ran his palm up and down his face one last time, tilting his chin up and examining the results for a moment before apparently feeling satisfied and putting the wand away. "Much better."

He turned his attention back on Lucius and grinned at the man who was looking back at him with resigned annoyance. "Shall we go?"

Lucius gave a frustrated sigh and reached out his hand to place it on Harry's shoulder. "Yes, I suppose we shall. I will return shortly, Draco."

Draco gave them both a parting nod just as the two vanished with a crack.

Harry could _feel _it as they spun and squeezed through the wards around their destination and reappeared with another resounding crack. They were in yet another ornate and traditionally decorated manor entry hall, although there was the obvious difference in that this new room had no magical paintings featuring _people_.

There were a few landscapes that were obviously of wizarding creation since Harry could see the wind blowing through the grass and trees in the scenes displayed, but not a single magical portrait. In the Malfoy's home, it was difficult to find a stretch of wall that didn't feature at least one sharp-featured, blond and gray-eyed witch or wizard, staring imperiously out at you from their antique picture frame. But then again, the Malfoys had a long standing heritage that they were obscenely proud of, while Harry rather doubted Marvolo would have much opportunity to find any old portraits of _his_ family, if he even wanted to. Which he wouldn't.

Harry took a moment to look around the room, wondering where the heck Marvolo had gotten this house in the first place. His attention was pulled away from the house and the lavishly ornate wainscot moulding on the walls, by the pop of a house elf.

"Lord-Master is expecting yous," the small creature squeaked as soon as the two wizards had turned their attention on her. "Lord-Master says for Milly to show Master's guests to Master's office. This way, if you please."

Harry turned and followed the elf without hesitation, Lucius following behind an instant later, and the pair made their way down the hall. Harry could have easily found his way to Marvolo, even without the elf's assistance though, as every step closer they drew towards the man, the stronger the man's magic felt in the air. The elf lead them to a heavy, dark wooden door, knocked and then pushed it open cautiously. "Lord-Master's guests are here," the little elf said in a quiet squeak as she popped her head through the door.

"Show them in," Marvolo's voice echoed from in the room and Harry couldn't help but grin at the sound of it. It had been nearly six months since Harry had last seen the man in person, and he found himself feeling a giddy sort of anticipation that he couldn't reasonably rationalize. The elf pushed the door the rest of the way open and made a sweeping motion with her hand to beckon them to enter. Harry stepped in first and his eyes instantly fell on Marvolo, who was standing by a large fireplace that was burning lowly in the hearth with Nagini curled up in a mass of coils, on the rug in front of it.

Marvolo turned slowly, maintaining a stoic mask of indifference for all of one second before his eyes widened and his lips parted, almost comically, at the sight of a much older Harry than he had no doubt expected, standing before him.

"Harry?" Marvolo asked in a tone that was as close to bordering on surprised wonder, as any tone the man had ever spoken in Harry's presence before – this life, or any other.

Harry's grin widened. "The one and only," he said with an exaggerated, sweeping bow.

"I see you opted to take an aging potion," Marvolo responded in a conversational tone, successfully regaining his calm demeanor from before.

"As observant as ever," Harry said dryly, still grinning.

Lucius, who had come to stand beside Harry, glanced over at him with an expression that told Harry the man was seriously questioning his sanity for daring to make such a sarcastic comment to the _Dark Lord_.

The Dark Lord, however, did not react with the anger that Lucius no doubt expected. Instead he smirked. "I approve."

"I thought you might like it."

Marvolo left his familiar by the fireplace and came over to stand a few feet from Harry, looking him over with a keen fascination. "How old is your body right now?"

"The potency I used on this batch added about ten years, so I'd say I'm currently bordering on the edge of twenty-five."

"It suits you well," Marvolo said, meeting Harry's eyes with a satisfied grin.

"Thanks," Harry replied with a chuckle.

Harry paused then and reached into the rucksack that he'd had slung over his shoulder since rejoining the Malfoys in their entry hall, after retrieving his aging potion. His hand came back out of it a moment later, but now with Jörmy, coiled around his wrist.

"Jörmy told me that if I visited your home to bring him. He wanted to see Nagini again," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Did he now?" Marvolo drawled with a slight hint of amusement.

Harry bent down and let the small, pencil-thin snake slide off his wrist and onto the floor. A moment later, Harry pointed his wand and hissed out a finite in parseltongue. Lucius took a startled step backwards and gaped for a moment as the once-tiny snake suddenly grew to a size even slightly larger than Nagini was.

_§Yessss, much better,§ _Jörmy hissed, contently as he stretched himself out across the floor and then made his way towards the fireplace, as it was the warmest place in the room. _But now my stomach feels empty.§_ he groused.

Harry made a face and glanced over at Marvolo. "You'd think I'd remember to plan for that, by now, but I don't exactly get a lot of opportunities to unshrink him. Do you keep any live rodents or rabbits or anything around, for Nagini?"

"Of course," Marvolo replied easily before turning to the house elf that was still waiting by the door and looking on at Marvolo reverently. "Milly, bring two of the hares."

"Yes, Lord-Master," Milly squeaked excitedly before snapping her fingers and summoning two large rabbits from where ever the live animals were kept in the manor. They appeared with a pop, hovering in the air in front of the house elf. "Do they go to the snakey's Lord-Master?"

"Yes, of course."

Milly nodded and snapped her fingers again, sending the two squirming hares through the air to then dangle in the space in front of each of the enormous snakes. Nagini raised her head and eyed the one in front of her shrewdly for a moment before turning her head away in apparent disinterest. Harry noted that she was already sporting a large lump about two feet from her head, suggesting she had something still in the process of being digested so he wasn't terribly surprised that she didn't seem interested. The elf apparently recognized this because the rabbit was released from it's spell and it quickly scampered away to hide beneath some item of furniture.

Jörmy, however, wasted little time in reeling back and then striking out in a lightening flash movement. He sunk his powerful fangs and crushing jaws, into the hare's body, filling it with his paralyzing venom. The hare jerked and spasmed for a few seconds before falling completely limp in the large snake's jaws. Jörmy then began the process of swallowing it whole.

Lucius grimaced slightly before looking away and clearing the expression from his face. "I was unaware that your snake was larger than it appeared," he drawled to Harry, who smirked in return.

"As ironic as naming a teeny-tiny snake after the World Serpent may be, I think that naming an enormous, magical snake after the World Serpent, is slightly more appropriate," Harry replied.

Lucius gave something of a conceding nod. "That it is." He turned his attention to Marvolo next. "Do you wish for a report on our trip to the Ministry, My Lord?"

"That won't be necessary, Lucius. I'm sure Harry can do that sufficiently," Marvolo replied in a somewhat bored tone.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said with a slight bow of his head. He looked back at Harry next. "I have already adjusted the wards on the Floo to allow access to you. You should be able to Floo back without any problems. The Floo address is simply 'Malfoy Manor'."

"Does the adjustment to the wards also permit for apparition?" Harry asked.

"Apparition? Are you suggesting that you can apparate?"

"Does that honestly surprise you?" Harry asked with a tinge of amusement.

Lucius blinked once before giving an aborted eye roll and shaking his head. "I suppose it really shouldn't. Your skill in wandless magic alone is stunning. Seeing as your capable of performing magic that many grown men are incapable of, I shouldn't be surprised that you're capable of a perfectly common thing like _apparition_."

Harry snickered and shrugged before getting a mischievous glint in his eyes that Lucius obviously saw if the sudden shift towards nervous wariness on the man's face, was any indication.

Harry glanced around the room for a moment before looking back at Lucius, smirking widely. "You want to see something actually _worth_ being surprised over?"

Lucius _definitely _looked wary now. "I don't know, Potter... do I?"

Harry chuckled and waved his empty hand, summoning the escaped hare from earlier, out from beneath a sofa and suspending it mid-air about six feet away from where the three wizards were gathered.

Marvolo frowned slightly, looking between Harry, the hare, and Lucius. The elf's eyes went huge and she slowly began to step backwards until she had reached the door.

"What sorts of spells would you say, with absolute certainty, _cannot_ be performed wandlessly?" Harry asked Lucius, while maintaining his gaze on the floating, struggling rabbit.

Lucius hesitated and looked towards the Dark Lord for a moment before looking back at Harry. "A great many, I would suppose. But I have seen and read stories about some wizards reportedly even capable of _conjuring_ things wandlessly, which I would normally assume to be a far too complicated and power-intensive branch of magic to be performed without a wand."

"What about offensive magic? Curses and such," Harry offered up, turning his gaze from the hare to look over his shoulder a bit towards Lucius.

"It would depend on the nature of the curse, I suppose. But some curses, would be impossible to properly control without the amplifying force and precision control only available when using a wand or other focusing agent."

"So... what? Unforgivables? The killing curse?" Harry offered, grinning slyly.

"Yes," Lucius said with certainty. "The killing curse could not possibly be cast without a wand."

Harry's grin only grew wider making him look more and more like a Cheshire cat. "You're sure about that?"

Lucius faltered now, frowning and glancing over towards the Dark Lord who only looked fascinated and amused, but whose expression offered no help for Lucius to decide how to react to this no-doubt, bizarre, situation.

Lucius' attention visibly snapped back to Harry as the air that filled the dimly lit room, suddenly began to thicken and grow heavy with magic that had not been there a moment before. The air surrounding Harry wavered and warped like a mirage on the desert horizon – like water ripples in mid air – and a haze seemed to coalesce around Harry as he turned his gaze back on the floating rabbit, now trembling mid-air.

Harry's very being seemed to vibrate with power and then, his eyes _literally_ began to glow. It was a sickly bright green that seemed to bleed like a lens flare from his eyes, and it was a color that all three habitants of the room were intimately familiar with. Harry heard Lucius's breath hitch with a gasp.

Harry raised his arm with fingers splayed towards the floating hare. The air around his hand appeared to shift and move in swirls like a thick viscous fluid. His hand began to glow as the swell of power from both within and without began to focus there where he willed it. The glowing from his hand seemed to almost bleed from his fingertips and he felt sweat break out on his brow from the effort.

Harry's breathing was coming shallow and quick, and there was a manic, almost _crazed, _look in his eyes as he made a sudden move with his palm pushing forward, towards the rabbit, in the air. He shouted out a guttural sound that came out more as '_Hah!'_ than any actual word – not something that could honestly be qualified as an incantation, by anyone's book.

The green glow shot from his palm and burst through the air, slamming into the hare in a bright flash of light and magic and power. And then it was over. The air thinned and the magic that had filled it so heavily only an instant before, dissipated within the blink of an eye. Harry was panting heavily as Lucius managed to jerk his gaze away from the now obviously dead rabbit, still floating mid-air, and look over in utter astonishment at the man-or child-or whatever he was- standing mere feet from him.

Harry's eyes were still vaguely glowing, but the light was slowly leaking from them, leaving little trails in the air as Harry subtly moved his head with each of his heaving breaths.

"My god," Lucius whispered.

Harry continued to pant for several seconds longer as a manic grin began to split his face.

"WOO!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, causing the other two wizards in the room to jump with shock at the unexpected outburst. Harry then began bouncing a bit on the balls of his toes, as he felt that there was far too much energy and magic dancing through his veins to possibly stand still. "Merlin, what a rush!" Harry went on with a laugh. He waved his hand absently in front of him and the dead rabbit floated through the air until it reached his hand. He didn't grab it though – instead he just reached out with the backs of his knuckles and pet it, like you would a cat. He cocked his head to the side; eyes still wide and wild, and still with a hint of green glow trailing from them as he moved; and observed the rabbit as if it were something beautiful.

"So soft. So easy to die... Lucky little thing," Harry mused wistfully.

"Harry," Marvolo's voice was rough and low and Harry turned to look at him with some reluctance. Finally Harry met the man's gaze and something, deep in his gut, jerked a bit at the intensity in the man's eyes. He didn't know what it was, but it was powerful. "Lucius, thank you for bringing Harry here. You can go," Marvolo spoke in a clipped, commanding tone, while never once removing his gaze from Harry.

"My Lo–? – Yes. Yes, my Lord," Lucius began hesitantly before his brain kicked in and he quickly bowed. He looked hesitantly between the two of them before letting his still-stunned gaze linger on Harry a moment longer. Appearing to shake himself from his stupor, Lucius made another quick bow and then vacated the room.

"Milly – leave," Marvolo said and the elf disappeared with a pop an instant later.

Harry blinked over at the door where Lucius and the elf had just vanished before turning his gaze back to Marvolo. The man's magic had taken on a considerable spike in the last minute, and it seemed to be dancing with some unheard, rapid, beat. Harry's skin flushed and raised with goose bumps and every hair stood on end with magic and energy and some unnamed excitement.

"Marvolo?" Harry asked, somewhat cautiously, as he found his mind was still a little too jazzed from the magic he'd just performed, to form enough of a coherent thought to make precise sense of just what was going on.

Marvolo, however, did not reply. Instead, he began to step forward in a predatory fashion, stalking towards Harry with a fire in his eyes. A fire of _want_ that was backed up by the powerful echos of desire that Harry was feeling surge in the back of his mind.

Harry took a hesitant step backwards and found himself bumping into a long side table that was pressed against the back of a chaise lounge that was angled towards the fireplace. Harry turned his head and glanced back at the object he'd just run into, only for the briefest moment, but in that moment his peripheral vision picked up a flash of movement. He turned forward again just in time to find Marvolo had come to stand a mere inch from his nose, leaning in and practically staring into Harry's soul with his penetrating gaze.

Harry's breath hitched and he felt the hot panting breath of Marvolo against his face as the man stood there, drastically inside Harry's bubble of personal space. Despite the intrusion, Harry did not find himself tensing from claustrophobia or pressure – no, all he could feel was the singeing tingle of Marvolo's magic as it danced against his skin and echoing through his very veins. The warm, wonderful, comfortable, inviting sensation, that he now remembered so clearly from their weird little hand-holding session, six months prior; only they weren't actually touching yet, so it was almost like a tease. He could just barely taste that wonderful sensation, but it wasn't quite there yet.

But it was still tantalizing, and Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy as he yearned to close them and just breath in the man's scent and taste his magic, so surprisingly close.

And then he was being kissed.

Strong, demanding lips, pressed against his own as a pair of large hands reached up and held the back of his head and the side of his jaw with a strength that suggested they feared he would try to escape if they didn't stop him. Harry's world exploded in his head as a waterfall of sensation cascaded over him with barely any warning at all, and Harry moaned in shock at how ridiculously _good_ it all felt. So good – so warm and _complete_, and just _right._ It was like all the pieces had suddenly and unexpectedly been magnetically drawn into all the right places; and they all just _fit._

The lips were moving eagerly now, and Harry became aware enough to realize he was moving back; pressing forward, _yearning_ to get more of that wonderful feeling. But his brain was slowly waking back up from the overload of sensation, and the obnoxious thing was starting to really freak the fuck out, screaming and yelling at him '_What the hell are you doing!?'_.

Harry pulled back with a gasp and a smacking of lips separating, and Marvolo let him go, despite the grip on his face. The pair stood there, staring at each other and panting, heavily.

"You kissed me!" Harry exclaimed in stunned disbelief.

"As observant as ever," Marvolo said mockingly, echoing Harry's own words from earlier.

"But... but, _why?"_ Harry asked incredulously.

Marvolo had the audacity to _smirk_ at him. "Because I _wanted_ to. Isn't that reason enough?"

Harry barked out an incredulous laugh. "You _wanted_ to? But, why would you want to!?" Harry asked, honestly bewildered.

Marvolo tilted his head and looked skyward as if he were asking some greater power for patience before looking back at Harry. "You cannot possibly be so oblivious in this one area when you are so bright in all others."

"I would argue that there are still several areas that I can still find myself baffled by," Harry argued mockingly. "But this, whole unexpected people kissing me thing – yeah. Obviously I actually _can_ be oblivious to it."

"I find you attractive," Marvolo stated in a deep tone that sent thrills down Harry's gut, and the man pressed forward an inch.

"Oh?" Harry asked airily in a raspy voice. "Is that before or after I took the aging position and stopped looking like a child?"

"The aging potion has definitely helped to ease any reluctance I was still holding onto," Marvolo said with a smirk, "however my attraction is to more than your incorrectly-aged body. After all, in the two years since you avalanched your way into my life, we've barely met in person a hand-full of times. I suppose you could say mine is an attraction nurtured over long-distance, and has more to do with _you_ than what you happen to look like. And we both know you are not actually fourteen."

"Oh..." Harry whispered softly, feeling some strange sort of pleasure at that response.

"You cannot tell me you do not return my affections. I know that you do," Marvolo said, leaning in again so far that there was barely a slip of air between their noses. "You've told me as much in the past. And I've felt it over our bond. Even if you are somehow in denial over the existence of our mural feelings, be both know that they are there."

"Well, _yeah_ – I've said that I'm _physically_ attracted to you –"

"Is _really_ that all?" Marvolo asked disbelievingly with a smirk.

"Well, _no_. Obviously not, but –"

"But what?"

"But – but – _it's us!_ It's _you_, and it's _me! _We – we can't... I don't know! But... it's not like we can act on that attraction!"

"Why not?" Marvolo breathed, tilting his head to the slide so that their noses wouldn't collide and trailing it instead along Harry's cheekbone. Harry's breath hitched and his eyelids fluttered.

Harry's breath was difficult to catch and he felt the wooden table behind him pressing into his lower back, and the heat of Marvolo's body pressing into his front. The magic was dancing between their skin like electricity arcing between two electrodes, and Harry had to fight to get his mouth to work and his brain to produce words for the mouth to speak.

"B-because," Harry said, breathlessly, "because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, and your the Dark Lord. We... it's just... I don't know – isn't there something wrong with that?"

"Meaningless titles," Marvolo mumbled against Harry's skin as he began to trail his lips along Harry's jaw and then let his tongue dart out and play with the lob of Harry's ear.

"Oh gods," Harry moaned and felt his body melting between the table and the man pressing against him.

"Yessss, Harry," Marvolo hissed into his ear, "it feels wonderful, doesn't it?"

"Uh, huh," Harry managed to get out in something of an incoherent noise while somewhere in his brain a war waged over why this was a bad idea, and how much he wanted to give in, anyway.

"I used to think that anything I did with another person that felt good could only ever be a weakness," Marvolo continued to murmur against Harry's cheek and neck as he trailed his nose and lips along Harry's exposed skin there, while his hands made busy work caressing both the back of Harry's head with one, and his side and waist. "I feared that if I allowed anyone else to effect me in such a way, I was giving them a power that they could use against me. I certainly would use that power against someone else, if given the chance. And I did. many times. Attraction was such an easy way to manipulate the weak."

Harry let out a breathy chuckle. "Is that what you're doing here?" he rasped out.

"You're not weak," Marvolo stated before latching onto Harry's neck and sucking hard. He moaned at the same time as Harry did, with nearly as much enthusiasm as well, which only seemed to egg Harry's own reactions on. The idea that Marvolo was effected by this, even if only a fraction of what Harry was feeling, was an intense thought.

Harry's legs shook with the intensity of the sensations – both physical and magical – or whatever it was, that connected the two of them together. Bizarre, broken soul magic that should have killed them both or never worked in the first place, but had somehow managed to link them together in such an unprecedented way. In all of Harry's lives, he'd never imagined that their strange connection could lead to anything like this. Even in this life – this last year or so, as he was aware of the more positive aspects that were developing from the bond – he'd never honestly explored the possibilities that could arise from it. Never imagined... nothing like _this._

Harry let out a weak laugh once he'd regained enough control of himself to stop moaning and pressing into the man's ridiculously talented mouth. "I feel pretty weak right now," Harry said with shaky breaths.

"That's just your knees," Marvolo spoke with his lips pressed against Harry's skin as he released Harry's neck. "Don't worry. I'll catch you if you fall."

A strange, startled little noise came from Harry's throat as some inexplicable emotional reaction seemed to snap into place with those words. The knowledge that he held at the moment that – _yes_, Marvolo would catch him if he fell. Not only would he catch him, he'd probably then lay him out on the table or the chaise lounge, and do all sorts of wicked things that would only serve to make him feel more wonderful than he could recall feeling in who knows how many lifetimes.

Harry managed to pull himself together to some extent, because there was one thing he wanted to ask before he honestly gave in, and he needed to be able to speak if he were going to ask.

"Wait – okay, wa... why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to do this? You said you wanted to do it – but _why_? _Why_ me?"

Marvolo pulled back a bit and their eyes met from a mere few inches apart and Harry felt the link singing between their minds. The rush of emotions and sensations was startling, but also difficult to interpret when his mind was already so muddled. Still, he wasn't completely disconnected from it, and he understood some of what he was feeling from the other man. He just wanted it spoken aloud.

"Because," Marvolo began slowly, "I find you fascinating. You intrigue me, and you stimulate my mind like no other ever has." Marvolo's hand moved gently along the side of Harry's cheek and carded into his disheveled black hair. Not only did it feel nice to have the man running his long nimble fingers through his hair, but the trails of tingling magical energy that followed in their wake was lovely. "You are... _my equal_," Marvolo said with a sardonic smirk before his face went intensely serious again. "And because I _want_ to keep you all to myself. You're _mine_. You are far too good for anyone else, but me."

Harry barked out a laugh, but the smile that spread across his face was genuine as he reached up and wrapped his arms around Marvolo's neck, pressing into the man and kissing him back on his own.

Marvolo let out a high, almost desperate moan in response and tangled his hand more firmly in Harry's hair while his other hand tightened it's grip against Harry's waist, pressing Harry more firmly against him, making the man's erection even more obvious, as if Harry hadn't already felt it by now. Not to say he wasn't sporting one of his own, of course; nor was he hesitating at this point to rub right back.

The two became a tangle of limbs and heated bodies as they clung, grabbed and pressed into each other; kissing with a desperation neither had likely experienced with another person in ages, if ever at all.

At some point, Marvolo reached out and pushed aside whatever trinkets had been on the table behind Harry, sending them clattering to the ground, and then hiked Harry up so that he was sitting on it with his legs spread, and Marvolo pressed firmly between them. The two rutted against each other there, kissing and devouring each others faces and any exposed skin that was accessible, moaning and writhing against each other in bliss.

Harry's hand began an almost mindless, desperate quest, to expose more of that smooth, beautiful skin, and his fingers ran down the center of Marvolo's waistcoat, undoing the zillion little silk buttons there with a well-practiced bit of wandless magic, and pushing it aside to repeat the gesture on Marvolo's fine white shirt.

Marvolo chuckled as Harry spread the fabric apart and his hands instantly splayed against the man's chest and Harry moaned giddily. The skin-on-skin contact was addictive and Harry found he only wanted more. It should be illegal for anything to feel this good, he found himself thinking, as he broke away from Marvolo and reached down to grab the bottom hem of his muggle tshirt.

Marvolo laughed again; his eyes alight with delight and heat and want. "Merlin, what _are_ you wearing?"

Harry laughed too, not even looking sheepish as he pulled the shirt off over his head. "Nothing now," Harry replied cheekily.

"Not true. You still seem to be wearing a bothersome amount of clothing on your lower half," Marvolo said back as he leaned in and latched his mouth onto Harry's clavicle, causing Harry's head to fall back and a deep moan to escape from his parted lips.

"Oh... well," Harry panted, "if you feel up to it, feel free to do something about that."

A devilish grin spread across Marvolo's face as he looked up at Harry as his mouth moved down at he latched onto one of Harry's nipples, earning him even more moans, and one of Harry's hands coming up to fist itself into Marvolo's hair.

Marvolo pulled back and let his tongue dance around the pert peak for a moment before he smiled at a now very dazed-looking Harry, "if you insist," he said before running his fingers, alive with magical energy, down the side of Harry's trousers, causing them to seemingly disintegrate into tatters and then dust.

Harry laughed, gaping down at his now bare legs. "Hey, I don't have a lot of clothes that fit at this age!"

"I'll buy you more," Marvolo said before pressing back and capturing Harry's lips in his own.

Harry grinned into the kiss and let his hand that wasn't clutched in Marvolo's beautiful soft hair, slide down and run along Marvolo's upper-leg and hip.

Marvolo chuckled against Harry's lips and pulled back just enough to speak, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he muttered as his own trousers began to split apart at every seam and fall off, onto the floor.

"At least yours could still be put back together with a reparo," Harry argued, breathlessly as the man's thigh began to undulate between Harry's legs, pressing rhythmically against Harry's erection, straining in his thin cotton pants.

"How considerate," Marvolo whispered before dipping down to tongue at Harry's smooth stomach and belly button before trailing it back up. Harry arched back until he nearly tipped back over the edge of the table and onto the chaise lounge behind it. He yelped and then laughed with the slight shift in his balance, and Marvolo reached out to grab him and prevent him from falling.

Marvolo chuckled. "Told you I'd catch you."

"You're being ridiculous," Harry laughed. "How about we find a somewhat less precarious perch for this?"

"My, my, Harry Potter. Are you trying to get into my bed chambers?" Marvolo teased.

"I didn't say that, but if you're making the invitation –"Harry said with a small laugh.

"How could I possibly deny you such a thing?" Marvolo said, pulling Harry up and pressing their bared chests together, drawing out sighs of delight from both of them. Then their eyes met and it was one of those moments where words didn't seem to work quite well enough. "I don't think I could ever deny you anything," Marvolo whispered. "You make me want to give you the world, Harry Potter.

– – –

**AN:** Oh Noes! The dreaded fade to black!

I personally hate these... When an author builds up to something steamy and then the scene ends and you skip ahead. The next scene in this story will probably start the next morning, unless I decide to keep the smut I've got all planned out in my head, in the main story.

Oh oh! And that iOS game that my husband and his friend made is now available for free with an iAd supported version!

: / / itunes. apple us/app/proton-pulse-for-everyone!/id554062515?mt=8

It's called Proton Pulse For Everyone (that's the free version)

it's FREEEEE - seriously, if you have an ipad/iphone/ipod then there is literally no reason at all not to download it. Pwetty pwease?** I'll post the smut scene sooner if they get a sudden boost in downloads! Haha! How's that for bribery!?**


	23. Chapter 22

AN: On my author page is a link to my Archive of Our Own page, which includes a posting of this story.

At the moment they are exact duplicates of each other. I do not intend to post a 'clean' version of this story, as I feel that the intimate interactions between the characters show important character development, and are, in fact, pivotal to the plot I had planned out for the whole damn story.

**SO – if you don't like to read stories with sexual interactions, then you shouldn't be reading this story.**

You cannot just skip over those scenes and 'get back to the plot' and have that actually work.

The warning has been in place from the beginning that this story would feature eventual slash, and here it is. You were warned and shouldn't have started reading it, if that's not your cup of tea.

– –

It will be found that some things which seem virtuous, if followed, lead to one's ruin, and some others which appear vices result in one's greater security and well-being. -

Niccoló Machiavelli

– –

Marvolo wrapped his arms around Harry and disapparated the pair of them from his office directly to his bedchamber with a cheshire-cat grin on his lips. Harry yelped in shock, half in the study and then the remaining of it once in they had appeared in the bedchamber with a muffled crack. Harry stumbled upon their arrival and ended up clinging to Marvolo even tighter than before, which Marvolo certainly wouldn't complain about as it made that irrationally pleasant tingle in his skin surge with the increased contact.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Harry exclaimed with an incredulous laugh as he clung to Marvolo's shoulders and looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

"Are you suggesting you wanted to _walk_ through the halls to my bedchamber, stark naked, instead?" Marvolo said back with dry amusement.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I generally hate side-along apparition with a fiery passion, and would gladly walk through your lovely home, completely starkers, to avoid it, thank-you-very-much. Besides, you get as old as I am and frivolous modesty is basically a thing of the past."

"Well, you have my apologies then, however I'm afraid my patience wouldn't tolerate such a walk – my bedchamber is on the second floor in the east wing, and I didn't want to waste time walking."

Harry snickered and shook his head, grinning. "Lazy bastard," he chided teasingly in a breathy voice before loosening his grip and stepping back from Marvolo a bit.

Marvolo found himself trailing his eyes over Harry's nearly-naked form appreciatively. He couldn't help but wonder at his good fortune that Harry made a very appealing adult. Marvolo hadn't thought that he would _really_ have any serious trouble making advances on Harry in his younger body, since he was safe in the knowledge that there was no actual innocence to corrupt. Harry was most certainly not actually fourteen-going-on-fifteen, and Marvolo held no concerns about accusations in regards to pedophilia, but the honest truth of the matter was that Harry made a rather gangly teenager. He was thin and wiry and it was obvious that he spent most of his time indoors with books and very little time out in the sun being active.

Not that Marvolo found an active, outdoorsy-type especially appealing, because he honestly didn't. Just the same, a little sun would probably benefit Harry's younger form a tad, which suffered from being pale and thin, much like Marvolo himself was at that age. This physically-older version of Harry that had aged an additional ten years wasn't any more tanned, but his body had filled out _very_ nicely, with broad shoulders and a chest to match, that tapered down nicely into a flat stomach and narrow hips followed by strong legs. He wasn't strongly muscled, but there was no fat to be found on him either.

Harry's hair was longer at the moment than Marvolo had expected it to be, since at the time when he'd seen him last at the Yule gala, Harry's hair had been relatively short, if a bit shaggy. It was now a feathered mess that went about mid neck and threatened to dust the tips of his shoulders in a few places. Marvolo found that he had the most absurd urge to run his fingers through it, and he debated whether to give in to that urge or try to quell it for the time being.

And _Merlin_, Harry's eyes still seemed to be glowing a bit – although perhaps it was just because they were so ridiculously green and the light from the floating orbs that decorated his bed chamber were reflecting in them, just right, and had nothing to do with Harry's outrageous magical display, earlier. Marvolo still didn't know how to wrap his mind around that, and every time he tried, he found himself getting lost in arousal and _want_. He'd never desired something so much in all his life, as he now knew that he wanted Harry. But shockingly enough, he did not simply want to possess Harry and hide him away from the rest of the world, like he was sure he might have once felt inclined to do with something so rare, precious, and powerful – no, instead he found that all he wanted was to pleasure and pamper and spoil Harry rotten. He wanted to bring Harry to new heights of pleasure and watch him fall apart because of Marvolo's doing, and no one else's.

Hiding Harry away would be unforgivable as he was far to incredible a wizard, to do such a thing. Although, Marvolo had wondered at the value in locking Harry away from the twisted world of Dumbledore and wars and politics, just in hopes of forcing the man to try and enjoy his life rather than spend all his time worrying about how to end it, and fix the world and everyone else's future. But that wasn't right either because it was the utterly masterful way that Harry handled all those things – Dumbledore, the Ministry and such – not so much how he handled _killing himself repeatedly –_ that had been one of the things that sparked Marvolo's interest in the first place.

As much anger as he felt towards Draco Malfoy for daring approach Harry in such a fashion – _and so publicly, too – _he had to admit that he owed the boy for spurring him into action. Marvolo had been on the fence as to whether or not to actually make a move on Harry now, or if he should wait longer – perhaps wait until Harry was out of Hogwarts and there would no longer be the bothersome issue of Harry spending ten months almost entirely out of Marvolo's direct grasp.

But no – this was better. This was – this was so far beyond Marvolo's expectations that he had no words appropriate enough.

Marvolo wrapped his arms around Harry's back and let his fingers trail along the lithe smooth muscles there, Harry's broad shoulder blades, and then trail down the center of Harry's spine. Harry shivered and melted in his grasp – his eyes falling shut while his lips parted and his breath hitched. Marvolo himself barely refrained from doing much the same as he felt the rush of magic coursing through his fingers and hands and arms, not to mention the vibration of sensation rocketing through his chest where the two pressed against each other.

His muscles seemed to almost spasm with the power and the constant dance of magic between each of their respective systems, effortlessly shared between them at every point of contact, as if they shared a vast circulatory system between them, allowing them to share blood, rather than pure magic. The hand-holding they had engaged in during Yule was nothing to prepare him for _this_.

He felt as if his whole body were alive with ultra sensitivity. It was pleasurable, but it was more than that. Sure, he could feel those wonderful coiled springs of bliss sinking into his groin with each beat of his heart, but there was another level of sensation that wasn't even sexual in nature. It was a sense of completion and _rightness_, that he didn't even realize he was lacking until given something to compare with.

_This – this_ was right.

He could only figure it had to have something to do with the horcrux. It really was the only rational explanation. He was missing a tiny portion of his soul, and that tiny portion was inside this man who was now nuzzling his face into Marvolo's shoulder and neck, nibbling against his flesh and dragging an involuntary moan from his lips.

Marvolo knew that he would have found Harry Potter – _this Harry Potter_ – fascinating and attractive, no matter whether this strange reaction they were experiencing existed or not. He couldn't say for sure if he would have come to this level of attraction had it not been for the mental connection they shared, simply for the opportunity it had provided him to get to know Harry so well. It had given him the opportunity to get to know Harry from a distance, but also with a tremendous amount of intimacy.

But this – this intense feeling of perfect comfort and closeness and _one_-ness was a level of intimacy that he had never expected to feel with the other man. With _anyone_, ever. He never would have believed that a person even _could_ feel something like this. Not without being delusional.

He wondered for a moment if he were being delusional right now – perhaps the intense magic in the air was distorting his perceptions. Harry's magic was giving him some sort of unnatural high, making him think irrational, overly sentimental, thoughts.

It was possible.

He still didn't care.

He'd never experienced anything that felt so _right_ before in his life, and if he could keep this feeling around, and still maintain his focus and drive, then he could only be better for it.

Hadn't he been telling Harry that the man needed to discover a way to find enjoyment in life? To find a way to revel and experience the thrill of existence rather than suffering through it, grudgingly; and eternally searching for a way to end the suffering.

He didn't need to _suffer_ through life. And Marvolo found that, now, even more so than before, he wanted to make sure that Harry would no longer just _suffer_ through life. If Harry could make him feel this _right – _this... irrationally _happy_ for no reason except that he was being held and kissed and caressed – for the first time in his life, then Harry deserved to be _happy_ too.

"I want to show you pleasures you've never known before," Marvolo rasped into Harry's ear before nipping at the bottom of the lobe and then moved his lips down to suck at the spot along his neck beneath his ear.

Harry moaned and a particularly sharp thrust pressed Harry's cotton-covered cock into Marvolo's hips.

"Do you want anything special, Harry? Or shall I surprise you?" Marvolo went on, smirking against the skin of Harry's neck.

"Ohhh... uhhh," Harry muttered as his eyelids fluttered in a fashion that Marvolo knew the man was fighting to maintain some level of control and coherency. "I uh... what have you got in mind?"

"Oh, I was thinking..." Marvolo trailed off, grinning devilishly as he twisted and reached down to grab Harry's wrist and pull it behind his back, "-that I might try tying you up and leaving you at my mercies."

Harry's eyes opened wide, but they were dilated and his lips were still parted and panting. Marvolo could feel a rush of thought and emotion surge through Harry at his words and picked out a few as surprise, denial, desire, and a nagging sort of wariness. Marvolo knew that there was still a part of Harry's mind that was protesting this entire encounter, but Harry was trying to squash that impulse down. Marvolo appreciated that, but he wanted the little protesting piece of Harry gone entirely, not just suppressed. He didn't want Harry to feel any reluctance or regret about this at all, and he suspected he knew just how to get all of the fears, insecurities, paranoias, and doubts that were driving this portion of Harry's psyche, to burn away to ash.

"Tie me up?" Harry rasped a bit, and let out a somewhat forced laugh. "What makes you think I'd be willing to let you tie me up? Or that I'd even find that enjoyable?"

Marvolo scoffed and rolled his eyes while smirking at Harry. "Oh please, Harry – it's only your favorite indulgence in the stories you write. I didn't even know what the hell Japanese rope biding was until I read your writings, but now, after reading nearly a dozen short stories that feature it in some form, I feel quite intimately familiar with it."

"Uh – yeah, about that – fiction and reality are two distinctly different things, and what sounds really hot on paper isn't always entirely safe or smart to do in reality," Harry said with a wary caution in his voice.

"I'm not a moron, Harry," Marvolo drawled, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I've actually done quite a bit of study on the subject, once it became clear to me that out of all the kinks you like to write about, this was obviously the one you were most intensely aroused by."

Harry flushed so much even the tips of his ears went red, and Marvolo couldn't help but chuckle at Harry's inexplicable response. It really was a wonder that even after all the years – _centuries_ – that Harry had lived, that he could still find it in himself to feel embarrassed about this one subject.

A flash of realization seemed to come to life in Harry's eyes and they narrowed and pinned Marvolo with amused suspicion. "How long, exactly, have you had it in your head to try and seduce me?"

Marvolo gave Harry a one-shouldered, dismissive shrug. "I began to come to terms with the nature of my attraction over the course of the last six months. I hadn't entirely decided if I would act on that attraction now, or perhaps wait till later, until recently. But the possibility that I _might_ want to act on it has been there long enough that I found reasonable enough motivation to expand my knowledge on what you might find especially... _enjoyable_."

Harry laughed, and it was a genuine laugh that brought his bright eyes alive with mirth.

"So you researched muggle shibari and kinbaku, _just because_ I wrote some smut featuring it?"

"_Some_ smut? Harry, out of the fourteen short stories I finally convinced you to send me, nine of them involved being tied up or restrained in some way, and seven of them specificallymentioned ropes and various techniques invented by these muggles, even if some of those stories didn't say a word about '_shibari__'_ or '_kinbaku__'_. It was quite obvious it was a point of interest for you. It's the only truly consistent kink in any of your writings."

Harry ducked his head, going red again, but he was also grinning sheepishly, and Marvolo could tell that Harry was only partially embarrassed at this point, while also being partially pleased.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head and then letting it come forward and rest on Marvolo's shoulder. His whole body, in fact, lay against Marvolo and the sudden increase in surface area of contacting skin sent a heady rush through Marvolo's senses that nearly made his legs give way, but he managed to gain control of himself quickly enough.

"I can't get over the mental image of you searching for muggle books on rope bondage," Harry snickered against Marvolo's shoulder, before his whole body began to shake with mirth and he buried his face against Marvolo's neck for a moment. Marvolo rolled his eyes and tried to look annoyed with Harry's antics, but couldn't quite pull it off when Harry's amusement, and utterly pleased surprise, was so strongly echoing through the back of his own mind.

"Did you – did you, go into a – a muggle _bondage_ shop?" Harry said, laughing and looking up at Marvolo with wide, disbelievingly amused eyes."

Marvolo arched a single brow and managed to keep a completely straight face while looking down at the man who was still leaning against him, shaking with laughter, while one arm was still bent back behind him and in Marvolo's grasp.

Marvolo finally let a cheshire cat grin spread across his face and reached down with his free hand to grasp Harry's other wrist and pull it back behind him to join the other. He leaned in so his lips were beside one of Harry's ears and whispered, "But of course I did, Harry. And I'd do it again if I thought it would help me bring you to the edge of bliss and hold you there until you beg and scream for me to let you cum."

Harry's amusement vanished almost instantly to be replaced by an intense full-body shiver, surging with arousal, and a sudden hitch in Harry's breathing.

A small whimper-like moan was restrained in the back of Harry's throat before it shifted into a shaky breath instead. "You're really serous?" Harry rasped.

"Absolutely."

"You want to try tying me up?"

"Only if you want me to," Marvolo whispered back as he trailed his nose along Harry's cheek and then dipped in to nip at his jaw.

"I..." Harry said and his body shook as Marvolo trailed lower down his neck, spreading his lips along the column of flesh there and sucking on Harry's pulse point. "I don't know – I –"

Marvolo shifted his grip so that one hand was now holding both of Harry's wrists and he tightened his hold, pulling him down with his grip and crashing his lips against Harry's. Harry moaned and pushed into Marvolo's kiss, devouring the man's face right back as their tongues danced the tango.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting from the intensity of the kiss and the sensations that had come with it. Marvolo wasn't honestly sure he had the patience to follow through with his offer at this point, as his desire for Harry at this moment was so intense that he felt somewhat dizzy. But he'd been the one to make the offer, and he could tell from Harry's emotions along the link, that the other man really did _want_ it, he was just reluctant to admit it – or reluctant to give in to that want. But if Harry wanted it, Marvolo _definitely _wanted to do it.

Harry met his eyes for several long moments of panting before he closed his mouth, grinned almost shyly and nodded his head. "Okay."

Marvolo grinned a pleased, predatory smile, before pulling away and putting enough space between them that he felt like he could control the urge to just jump Harry out of impatience, and proceed with the plan instead. He nodded his head towards the bed and Harry glanced over at it and grinned.

"Strip off your pants and kneel on the bed," Marvolo commanded, and Harry's grin only spread wider.

There was an almost giddy sort of amusement still in there, but it was surpassed by excitement and arousal. Harry's wrists were no longer being held in Marvolo's grasp, but Harry kept his arms folded behind his back as he walked backwards, keeping his eyes trained on Marvolo with each step, and grinning all the while. Finally he came within a foot of the bed and turned his gaze towards it. He brought his unbound arms down from his back and made quick work of shoving his pants off his hips and shuffling inelegantly out of them.

Harry climbed up onto the bed and knelt in the center of it with his arms once again folded behind his back, facing the foot of the bed and watching Marvolo with eager eyes. Marvolo walked around the bed observing Harry keenly and trying to keep a handle on his own outward eagerness, although from the amusement still curling it's way in Harry's mind, he rather suspected he wasn't being entirely convincing to Harry. Of course, the fact that Harry could feel his own eager anticipation probably didn't help matters.

He hadn't known how Harry would react to his proposition of intimate relations, or his suggestion of how to go about it – namely, the bondage. He'd honestly been more inclined to go with something a bit more – what did the muggles in that ridiculous shop call it – ah yes, _vanilla_, for their first few encounters. Interactions like they were broaching here today took trust and experience. And while he had somehow finally come to terms with the fact that he trusted Harry in a way he had never _ever_ trusted anyone else in his entire life, he still did not know that Harry could say the same thing in return.

He had expected that fulfilling Harry's sexual fantasies would be something they would have to work up to as they established their relationship – and this was all assuming, of course, that Marvolo would be successful in seducing Harry in the first place... which he honestly hadn't doubted himself capable of for even a moment. But he was willing to admit that it was, technically, a possibility.

And yet, here he was, going over to the wide, low table along the wall beneath a gilded mirror, and opening the drawer to fetch one of the ropes he'd been practicing with, while Harry knelt in the center of his bed, practically vibrating with anticipation. The rope was coiled back on itself numerous times and then secured in the center with the folded center of the rope that had been looped around itself with a pull-knot. He grabbed this one loop and with a flick of his wrist the entire bundle came undone and whipped out onto the floor. Harry's eyes widened and Marvolo could feel his magic sparking in the air around him.

Marvolo made quick work of finding the two knotted ends of the eight meter rope, bringing them together and then pulling down so that the whole thing was folded in half perfectly. Holding the folded end in his hand he stalked towards the bed in a graceful, predatory manner, relishing the intense desire and excitement he saw in Harry's eyes, and felt in the frequent shallow breaths that were causing Harry's chest to heave, visibly.

Harry's demeanor was anything but what one might associate with submissive, but Marvolo was honestly a bit glad for this. It honestly would have been a bit strange for the Harry Potter he had come to know over these last two years to turn into some sort of compliant, docile, creature with lowered eyes and bowed head. Totally unresisting and meek. It would have been strange, and honestly, no fun at all. He could imagine a time when he would have enjoyed torturing some poor sod – a particularly high society pureblood, most likely – and relishing in their total submission, but he wasn't that person anymore. _Harry_ had changed him – and in more ways than the obvious. That theoretical time in the past would have been a vindictive act that served only to inflate his own ego, and there would have been no interest in bringing about pleasure to the other individual in that situation.

He would have been a horrible Dom, now that he thought about it. The same way he'd been a horrible master and cruel and unrelenting Dark Lord – only without the sexual pleasure. He was almost relieved that he'd never made sexual torment a part of his repertoire during the height of his insanity. One less thing to weigh on his conscience now – and Merlin knew he certainly had more than enough of that already. No, fortunately, he'd lost interest in sex by his mid-20's – no doubt his body had been so far removed from humanity at that point, that the basic drive to reproduce that guided many men's libido's, had totally abandoned him. It was not something he would ever admit to anyone at this point, but he rather suspected that at a certain point, he'd lost the ability to even get an erection. He'd lost all interest and desire in sex, and saw it as a pointless, frivolous, activity, worthy of derision. It was a weakness that lesser men indulged in. Merlin, was he glad he'd gotten past _that_ notion.

His past inability to get aroused was most certainly no longer a problem, and Harry's hungry eyes were trailing over his body and often flickering down to his erection, still covered by his thin, black-silk pants. Harry seemed to smirk every time he looked at them and Marvolo was fairly sure that some of that amusement he felt was because Harry thought Marvolo's choice in material was funny.

He was a Dark Lord. He could indulge in whatever the hell he wanted.

Harry seemed to have somehow picked up on that thought because he let a tiny laugh escape his lips before squashing it and just grinning at the approaching man. Harry managed to suppress some of the amusement, however, his mind taken over once again by anxious anticipation, as Marvolo got to the bed and reached with his free hand to twist Harry to the side slightly, so he'd have better access to his back and arms.

"Safe word is ruby," he spoke in a low smooth voice.

Harry grinned. "Like your eyes, when you're not hiding them?"

"Your birthstone," Marvolo replied with a smirk of his own.

There was a flicker of surprise that then melted away into a warm, pleased, sort of sense, and Harry went silent again.

Harry's arms were in a good position already with the forearms crossing low, so Marvolo wrapped his left hand around them, extending his forefinger out against Harry's wrist and wrapped the loop of the folded rope around the two bound arms and his finger. He wrapped them several times, keeping the rope strands parallel, to equally distribute the pressure before pulling the loop-end under, and tying a square knot with it and the free end. Satisfied that it would not get any looser or tighter from any rope tension or struggling, he finally removed his finger, confident that there would be no risk to Harry's blood circulation.

Harry let out a shuddering breath and tested the strength of the bind. Marvolo heard as Harry's breath hitched sharply at the first reveal of the taught restraint. Marvolo was worried for a moment as he felt Harry's mental landscape suddenly, and dramatically, shift. It was as if Harry's world suddenly turned on its axis and went from day to night in the blink of an eye. Harry moaned and his head fell forward, and Marvolo felt as if a tremendous weight had just vanished from Harry's mind. Even somewhat detached from Harry's emotions, as he was, he could still feel the intensity of that weight being lifted, as if it had been lifted form his own shoulders as well.

It took Marvolo a disoriented moment to fully grasp what had happened, but once he did, he couldn't help but feel pleased with himself. Not only because of what he'd accomplished, but also because of the fact that he'd been _right_. He'd predicted that something like this might be the case, and he had just had his suspicions confirmed.

He'd wondered to himself on several occasions, why a person like Harry might enjoy being tied up. It was certainly not something he himself had ever considered or explored before, and he was quite certain that Harry was not a sadist. He did not enjoy _pain_. He didn't want _pain._ But being tied up in this way was not painful – which Marvolo had come to realize was a common misconception among people in regards to any form of bondage. From Harry's own writings, Marvolo had come to discover that Harry held a bit of disdain for some of the practices of Western BDSM techniques that focused too heavily on straddling the line between pain and pleasure.

For Harry, it was not about that at all.

It was about giving up control, but more importantly, it was about giving up _responsibility. _Marvolo had come to understand that Harry was simply incapable of giving up his undying need to save the whole bloody world. He'd been raised that way, Marvolo supposed, and no matter how many times Harry claimed to 'not give a shit anymore' about the rest of the world, Marvolo had come to understand that Harry was really just _lying_. Probably lying to himself more than anything else, really.

Harry had told him at the very beginning – two years prior when Harry had just restored the piece of his soul from the diary, and he was still filled with anger and distrust for the strange boy who wasn't a boy – that Harry was willing to watch the world burn if it meant he might find the answer to ending his repeating lives. Harry insisted that he had committed himself to siding with Voldemort and making sure that _he won_ the war – no matter what – and that the prophecy was completely defied. Because Harry hadn't tired _that_ yet, and if there was a chance that it would work, it was worth doing.

Marvolo wondered how true that really was, though. Sure, Harry had probably convinced himself that it was true. That he was tired, and miserable, and all he wanted was to _die_ so that he wouldn't have to live through the coming misery and pain that he'd already had to live through and watch, helplessly, so many times before. But Marvolo suspected now that Harry would not have really been able to stand idly by, had Marvolo not regained his sanity. Had he remained _Voldemort – _violent, angry with the world, and filled with the need to make anyone else suffer as much as he had irrationally convinced himself they deserved – and nothing more.

Harry simply had too strong a hero-complex – even after so many centuries of suffering and bitter resentment, leaving him jaded. He would always feel the deep-seeded need to try and save as many people as he could.

Marvolo knew that Harry's original 'plan' had been to try and remain uninvolved in politics. He was going to stand back and let Voldemort gather his death eaters and wage a war with raids and fear and death, and Harry would just keep out it, while occasionally dipping in to make sure that Dumbledore wasn't succeeding at killing Voldemort or destroying any of his soul pieces.

But once it had become clear that Voldemort had regained his sanity, and was not going to take the violent, terrorist route to gain power, Harry's plans shifted. He suddenly allowed himself to become involved and he started making plans towards getting the wizarding world into a position of power for the coming war with the muggles. His desire to save the world had reasserted itself with a vengeance, and that weight – that eternal responsibility to try and save the wizarding world of Britain, had come to the surface, once again.

But it had never actually been _gone_. It would have been there all along, no matter what, and Harry would have merely suffered in miserable, guilt-filled, silence, had he actually stood back and tried to do nothing while his world burned.

That weight of responsibility was _always there_ for Harry– except for _right now._

Marvolo had suspected that being bound like this caused something of an involuntary release in Harry's mind. He handed over control to _everything_ to the other person, when he did this. It was the one and only way that Harry had to turn it all off. The only way to let go of the stress and the authority. The accountability and obligation he felt towards the world, _all the time._ Right now, it was gone. He wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. He wasn't anyone's hero or savior. He was just Harry, and all he had to do right now was lay there and let Marvolo have his way with him, because it was the only option. He had given up his free choice by allowing the man to tie him up like this.

Sure, in truth, Harry was more than capable of magicking his way out of this – _especially _this, as Marvolo had barely even bound his wrists at this point. Harry didn't need his wand to undo his bindings and escape, but that didn't matter. It was still enough for his _mind_ to hand over the reigns and submit to someone else's control.

Harry's mind was an entirely different landscape now. All of the inhibitions that had been clawing at the back of his mind; doubting and second-guessing this – wondering if he was making a stupid mistake and trying to play out what sorts of repercussions would come from the two of them becoming intimate – it was all silenced. Gone, completely. There were no nagging doubts to be sensed anywhere, and no little voice wondering, if allowing himself to succumb to this pleasure would have negative repercussions on his plans – his _responsibility_ – to save the wizarding world – because those plans weren't his responsibility right now. His only responsibility was to kneel here and do what he was told.

It was surreal, but it was also a tremendous power rush.

Marvolo had wondered if Harry's motivations were something like this, and now he was confirmed correct. He felt rather smug with that discovery, but was pulled from his mental dawning by a needy whimper from Harry, bent forward and kneeling before him. Marvolo allowed a slow, wide, smirk to spread his lips and refocused on his task. He needed to show Harry that his trust was not misplaced. That he could do this properly and take care of Harry when he was willing to hand the control over, as he had done this day. He had to show him that it was _worth it_, to give in and succumb to the pleasure that Marvolo wanted to give him.

"_Yes, please,"_ Harry whispered beneath his breath.

Marvolo resumed his ministrations with an outward calmness that belied the true intensity of his emotions.

Harry's wrists were bound towards his lower back. Marvolo pulled the rope upwards to just between his shoulder blades and held it with one hand while the other wrapped it around Harry's shoulders, across the front of his chest and back around to loop into itself where he held it at the center of Harry's back. After a single woven loop, he pulled it back the way it had come, around Harry's chest again – paying attention to where over Harry's chest it stretched, so that it would brush his nipples just so – and then around his shoulder and once again looping around the woven knot at the center of Harry's back.

Next he pushed the rope between Harry's right arm and his ribcage so that it could loop around the lower rope stretching across the front of Harry's chest, then back around to once again contribute to the growing weave of ropes at the center of Harry's back. He repeated the bind on the opposite side, finding himself getting lost in the strange beauty of the woven knots as it slowly came together. In and out, under, around – tugs to pull things taught, jostling Harry's pliant body as he worked, and the heavy, excited breaths that came from Harry as he knelt there with his head bent forward, eyes closed, and his lips parted.

Each brush of fingers against skin had continued to send rushes of magic between them during the entire process, and Marvolo found it difficult to focus at times, it felt so enticing.

He brought the rope down, around Harry's lower ribcage and up across the opposite shoulder, looping through the ropes that crossed Harry's front as he went, then doubled back from the knot in the middle and went around the other side with a symmetrical shape. Harry's nipples were now caught between the two strips of rope that criss-crossed directly over each one now, and Harry arched back, pulling those ropes taught and bringing about what Marvolo realized must have been a glorious bit of friction, if Harry's loud, needy moan, was anything to go by.

Harry began to gently struggle, and Marvolo could feel how much the action increased Harry's own arousal – what surprised him was just how arousing _he_ found it to watch. Harry was still kneeling where he'd been the whole time, but he was bending at the waist; twisting and turning; _writhing_ against his bonds and moaning.

It was utterly obscene how incredible it looked.

A devilish idea sparked in Marvolo's mind and as he came to the end of the rope and tied it off in the bottom of the intricate weave on Harry's back, he let his fingers trail over the woven center of the ropes and sent out magic to travel through the all of the spidered fibrous strands.

"_Oh God!"_ Harry called out as he suddenly arched back, throwing his head back and moaning. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," He chanted as his breathing heaved and he writhed in the binds, thrusting his hips out into the air, subconsciously seeking some relief for his unattended cock, as the pulses of magic coursed through the bindings across his whole torso.

Marvolo's head swam with the echos of the pleasure Harry was experiencing, and he nearly fell forward on Harry with his own dizzy loss of equilibrium. He reached down and pressed the heel of his palm against his erection stretching his silk pants taught. The contact was wonderful and only served to egg on his need to progress this to the next level.

"Please, please, please, please –" Harry was whispering as he rocked on his knees, eyes closed and lips constantly parted with his quick shallow panting.

Fighting against the urge to just stay there and stroke himself to the glorious sight of a desperately aroused Harry, tied up and writhing before him, Marvolo instead reached towards the head of the bed summoning several pillows to him. He laid them out in front of Harry and guided him down so that his face was plastered against them while he remained on his kneels, presenting his creamy smooth arse for all it's glory.

Harry's hips were thrusting into air and pillows now and the barely-there chanting continued from his lips as Marvolo finally pushed out of his own underpants and stretched out his hand, summoning a jar of lubricant from one of the tables in the room. He slicked his hand and gave himself the indulgence of a few strokes as he looked down at the moaning, needy mess, that Harry Potter had degenerated into.

"Beautiful," he murmured reverently.

* - * - * legitimate smut starts here * - * - *

Harry moaned and spread his knees apart, presenting himself, temptingly. Marvolo knelt behind Harry and stretched out his non-lubricated hand to caress Harry's arse while the other hand came up, finger extended, and began to circle around Harry's tight pink pucker.

Harry keened needfully and pushed back against Marvolo's finger as he tested the waters and began to push in to the first knuckle. Marvolo worked at it as slowly as his now very limited patience would allow him; gradually getting in deeper, hooking his finger around to tease Harry and illiciting some of the most delightful screams and moans from Harry's lips – and eventually pulling out just long enough to add a second finger and begin really working at stretching Harry's tight muscles.

Harry's entire body was shaking and his pants were quick and shallow. His head was swimming with pleasure – both physical and magical. The magic was still thrumming through the ropes, and Marvolo could feel his magic connecting directly to Harry's prostate, through his finger, and slowly driving the man mad. Harry was exerting a tremendous amount of will power to not come yet, and Marvolo could sense the desire in the other man to wait until Marvolo was actually inside him.

His patience finally expired and he knew he couldn't possibly wait any longer. He leaned forward and kissed the small of Harry's back, hunched forward as it was, and let his hand caress the smooth skin there.

"Ready?" he spoke in a low, husky voice – rougher than he'd honestly even expected it to be, himself.

"_Yessss. Please," _Harry moaned.

Marvolo lined himself up and pressed against Harry's rear, pushing in and breaching the first tight ring of muscle slowly. He hissed as he felt an echo of the discomfort that Harry himself felt and slowed to a stop, allowing the muscles to relax and adjust. It didn't take long at all, though, as Harry seemed capable of forcing himself to relax rather well, and soon any sense of discomfort was gone as the far more overwhelming sensation of their shared magic, joining them at their most sensitive places, took the forefront of his attention.

Harry apparently grew impatient with his own need and rocked back, piercing himself deeper, on Marvolo's cock, and drawing out startled moans from both men at the flood of pleasure and magic and sensation rocked them both. Marvolo gasped for air and had to grasp Harry's hips to keep from falling over, as his head spun and his world shook. That sense of _rightness_, and _completion_ from earlier was back with far more intensity than before. He felt truly whole and it was utterly blissful. He wasn't even _moving_ yet, and he felt stunningly wonderful.

Harry was moaning and crying and Marvolo realized suddenly as his world snapped back into focus that Harry was rocking back and forth, thrusting back against Marvolo's cock in his arse, fucking himself.

"_Gods_, gods, gods, oh – please fucking _move_!" he moaned and Marvolo pulled back before snapping his hips forward in a powerful thrust that drew forth a scream of pleasure from Harry's parted lips.

He reached up with one hand, fisting it around the intricate knot of ropes at Harry's back and using it for leverage as he set a desperate pace, fucking Harry with abandon. Harry screamed in pleasure, begging for more and rocking back with each thrust, deepening the angle. Marvolo's head was swimming and his body was more lost in bliss and feeling and satisfaction that he'd ever imagined even possible. And Harry was right there with him. In his head, _in his body_ – even if it was technically the other way around. But he could feel what Harry was feeling, and it was strange and astounding. He could feel an echo like it was his own arse being fucked, but he could also feel Harry feeling his cock as if it were doing the fucking. Like one of those hall of mirrors that seem to go on and on forever. Echos of echos, each blurrier but still vaguely perceptible.

He hit the peak far sooner than he'd expected, or would have even wanted, but neither of them could stop this dam once it had broken and both screamed out at the same moment as both men came, thrusting, and writhing and sweating. Marvolo's grip on the ropes with one hand and Harry's hip with the other was so tight, he'd probably have rope marks on his own hand and leave a bruise on Harry's hip. Harry's mouth remained open wide in a now-silent scream of pleasure as if he'd lost his voice from the sheer intensity of his orgasm. Marvolo's own grunt-roar was not so silent and after a few spasms of after shocks, he collapsed forward, panting heavily against the sweaty, bound man beneath him.

* - * - * smut over * - * - *

Marvolo was not sure how long exactly it took before he'd found his senses again. His cock became over sensitive at some point and he had no choice but to pull out, as the direct contact with Harry's skin, and subsequently, his magic, was just too much to take any longer. Harry had laid flat, letting his legs stretch out beneath him, and panted into the pillow until his breathing had returned to a more normal rate. Marvolo found himself draping partially over Harry's back and running his fingers aimlessly along some of the ropes when it occurred to him that he really ought to untie the other man.

Harry seemed to be utterly blissed out, however. An almost dopy grin was on his face and Marvolo wondered if Harry was asleep or if he'd entered 'subspace' – a concept that Marvolo still had not entirely wrapped his mind around. He figured he really ought to ask Harry for some clarification on a number of these matters – as he knew that Harry had a wealth of experience in the area, where as he knew only what he'd read in a select few books, and what he'd gathered from a couple of muggles in a shop that were over-eager to share.

He considered asking Harry if he wanted to be untied, but stopped himself before he could open his mouth. He was still the one in control here, and it was his responsibility to take care of these things without putting any of the responsibility back on Harry's shoulders. It was _his job_ to decide to take the ropes off.

That in mind, he pushed himself up so that he was kneeling beside Harry and began running his hands very lighting over Harry's skin and the ropes. A contented sigh escaped Harry's lips and Marvolo found himself smiling at the warm, delicate tingle of magic that danced between them; smoother and calmer than before – less desperate, but still wonderful.

"Come on, love. Up on your knees. Time to get these ropes off," Marvolo said in a smooth voice. He saw Harry's smile grow and the man sighed after a moment and began to wiggle and pull his knees back underneath him and then Marvolo helped him raise back upright.

Marvolo slowly undid the knots and weaves, removing the ropes and gently massaging the skin as it was gradually exposed. He was struck slightly surprised by just how fascinated and attracted he felt towards the marks the ropes left behind on Harry's flesh. They would fade in short order – probably fifteen minutes to a half an hour – but he would enjoy them while they lasted.

Harry let his head lull back and to the side, a gentle smile on his lips the entire time that Marvolo worked at undoing the binds. Finally he was down to just the wrap around the wrists, and then even that was undone. Marvolo made quick work of putting the rope into a looped bundle the book he'd gotten the technique from had called an '8-hank' and then tossed it to the bedside table to put away later. Harry sighed long and slow before turning and looking over at Marvolo with a calm, contented smile.

"That was wonderful," he said.

Marvolo smirked. "You're welcome."

Harry grinned widely, twisted, still on his knees, but now facing Marvolo, and wrapped his arms around the other man's neck before pulling him in and kissing him long and slow. Marvolo wrapped his arms around Harry's back, letting his hands trail along the indented marks there, left behind by the ropes, relishing both the gentle stimulation of his magic, and the almost frightening feeling of contentedness.

– –

Lucius felt like he'd been in a daze since yesterday evening when he'd quickly departed the Dark Lord's manor. This was the only reason he had to excuse the absent-mindedness that had led to him being surprised when Severus arrived that morning via floo, despite the visit having been arranged the week prior.

Lucius blinked at the hearth in his private study from his seat at his desk as Severus came spinning to a stop and stepped out gracefully. Lucius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before giving Severus a strained smile instead. Severus clearly noted his surprise if the arch of his brow was any indication.

"Were you not expecting me, Lucius?" Severus drawled questioningly, as he eyed the disheveled state Lucius was presently in. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night prior and had been up since very early that morning.

"Yes, of course. It had simply slipped my mind that you were coming by this morning," Lucius said in a confident, reassuring tone.

"Slipped your mind?" Severus echoed somewhat disbelievingly.

"I've been very... preoccupied," Lucius admitted with a grimace.

Severus eyed him for a moment before apparently choosing to allow Lucius to escape without further explanation by switching subjects. "Is Potter here?"

Lucius' grimace intensified. "No. He has not returned from the Dark Lord's manor."

Severus' brows rose slightly with surprise. "So early? How long ago did he leave?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

Now Severus' face showed legitimate surprise – although it would still be a very subdued expression by most people's standards. "He spent the night?" Severus asked somewhat incredulously.

"Yes..." Lucius trailed off and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Severus... I wonder if I have perhaps made a grave mistake."

Uncharacteristic doubt filled Lucius' tone and face and Severus clearly took this as serious as he wasted little time in coming over and sitting in one of the chairs opposite Lucius and his desk. "What has happened?" Severus asked seriously.

A small laugh escaped Lucius' lips and his eyes looked unfocused. "I think I've gained custody of the next great Dark Lord."

Severus' eyes went wide.

"However I cannot quite tell for sure if this is the best thing I've ever done for myself and my family, or if it might be the greatest mistake of my life. I fear I've put my family in great danger... but I may have also guaranteed us a position of power and safety for years to come. I don't know. I just... _I don't know_. There is _so much_ I don't know, and it's terrifying."

Severus sighed heavily and sagged a bit into his chair. "Why do you say that Potter is the next _Dark Lord?"_ he drawled somewhat tiredly.

"Yesterday I witnessed the most tremendous and incredible demonstration of magic that I suspect I will ever see in my life. And Potter did it on a _whim_. He was just... _showing off_. I – I don't even know what to say, Severus. I don't know what to think. It was incredible. I don't know whether to run for the hills before he returns, or fall to the floor on my knees when I see him next."

"What did he do?" Severus asked in resignation.

"A _wandless, nonverbal_, killing curse. _Wandless_, Severus. He had _no wand!_ _The killing curse!"_ Lucius exclaimed and his eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and awe.

Severus' lips parted and he was apparently left speechless by this declaration.

"Did he actually kill something with it, or was it merely the proper color?" Severus finally said, once he had apparently regained enough of his senses to speak.

"He killed a rabbit," Lucius said dismissively. "The house elf had brought it so that Potter's snake could eat... _Merlin_, did you know that Potter's snake is in actuality even larger than the Dark Lord's serpent?"

"Ah yes – Potter's _Midgard Serpent,_" Severus drawled, rolling his eyes.

"The name Jörmungandr seems considerably more reasonable now that I've seen how big the damn thing really is," Lucius groused. "Before I thought he was just being facetious with the name."

Severus snorted subtly. "So what possessed Potter to use impossible magic to kill a rabbit for his snake?"

Lucius looked skyward and shook his head. "The damned brat was just trying to get to me. He seems to find great amusement in riling me up. All the more reason for me to be terrified of the position I've put myself in. Most of the time I find myself in his presence, I wish for nothing more than the ability to hex him senseless, he's so outrageously frustrating – and intentionally so! He does it on purpose!"

"Yes, he does," Severus confirmed in a bored tone.

"Do you think he's trying to get me to snap so that he can retaliate?" Lucius asked in voice that betrayed some of the fear and horror he felt inside at the thought.

Severus' arched a single brow and looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No. I don't believe so. Honestly..." he hesitated and seemed to grimace for a moment before he closed his eyes and breathed in slowly several times before opening his eyes with a completely blank expression. Lucius recognized it for what it was – Severus was pulling behind several levels of occlumency – shielding parts of his own mind from other parts – detaching himself from certain mental departments. Lucius sat up straighter, suddenly intensely aware and curious. Severus let out a slow breath and then resumed, "Potter likes you. He's told me so himself. I honestly do not think that he's riling you up in hopes to give him reason to torture you or kill you with impossible wandless magic. Merlin it's ridiculous that I can't even say _that_ without the contract trying to act up."

"He _likes_ me... wait, that's all?" Lucius responded with palpable frustration. "Severus, _please_ – you know things. You know some of the truth about the boy. Hell, apparently now even my own _son_ knows the truth and _still_ I am left in the dark! You _must_ tell me more about him. I need to know what I've gotten myself into!"

"What about Draco knowing what?" Severus asked, frowning.

Lucius heaved a frustrated sigh and rubbed at his temple with his hand. "Potter apparently told Draco 'the truth' – whatever that is, and did so without even requiring a secrecy contract. The Dark Lord found out and was here yesterday to confront Draco, while Potter and I went to the Ministry to register his party affiliation."

Severus sat up straighter. "Is Draco alright?"

"Yes. The Dark Lord merely made Draco sign a secrecy contract of his own creation, but it is no doubt dangerously strict. I cannot risk asking Draco _anything_ about Potter..."

Severus frowned deeply. "This is very dangerous for Draco..."

"Potter said he was going to have his solicitor draw up a new contract and then convince the Dark Lord to perform the ritual to dissolve the old one," Lucius said tiredly.

"Well, that's one thing, I suppose..." Severus said grudgingly.

"I didn't think for even a moment that Potter would have a chance of _convincing_ the Dark Lord to dissolve _anything_, but after seeing the way the Dark Lord looked at Potter after he performed that curse, I'm not so sure anymore."

Severus' brow creased. "Looked at him, in what way?"

"Hungry... _possessive,"_ Lucius said. "I can certainly understand it, of course. The Dark Lord has always valued power, and I've never even imagined that anyone would come along with as much power as that boy must have to perform magic like that. Looking back now, it really is no wonder he survived a killing curse as an infant... and I certainly wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord was willing to go to great lengths to keep Potter happy, so perhaps he really does have a chance of convincing our Lord to dissolve Draco's contract."

Lucius heaved a tired sigh and sat back in his chair while rubbing tiredly at his temple.

Severus looked to be thinking over Lucius' words for several long silent beats. Finally Lucius sat forward in his seat, coming to rest his elbows on the desk before him and pinning Severus with his piercing silver gaze. "I've heard an interesting rumor out of the Ministry, Severus; about _Potter_."

Severus arched a single brow questioningly, "Oh?"

"Yes – supposedly it's originally from one of _Dumbledore's lot._ The word is that Potter is a _Seer_, of all things. My source said that Potter is said to have foretold the coming of a terrible war with the muggles..." he trailed off, never taking his eyes off of Severus' face, searching for reactions.

Severus' eyes _did_, in fact, widen. "Is that so? I don't suppose you know which member of Dumbledore's Order leaked this information, do you?"

"So it's true?!" Lucius demanded, sitting up straighter.

"No, of course not," Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It was a tactic Potter employed to break up the harmony and unquestioning obedience among Dumbledore's followers. He did it to get them to question their own motives, and distract them from their goals. It actually worked, brilliantly. The Order has been in total disarray for the last six months thanks to Potter's little stunt."

"But how would he convince them of such a claim?" Lucius asked, feeling baffled by this. It wasn't like just anyone could come along and convince a group of seasoned witches and wizards – even a group as gullible and naïve as Dumbledore's band of blind worshipers – that you were able to _see the future_. Legitimate Seers were rare, but frauds claiming to be Seers were fairly common. Very few people were gullible enough to believe a claim to the Sight without some sort of proof to back it up.

"Potter had detailed information on a few of the members – information that he would seemingly have no way of possibly knowing under normal circumstances – and then spun a very dramatic story of future devastation and suffering."

"And they bought that?" Lucius asked somewhat skeptically.

"Sirius Black certainly did," Severus sneered derisively. "Black was the middle-man in this little scheme of Potter's. First Potter convinced Black and then Black relayed the information with his particular flare for the dramatics, to the rest of the Order along with his enthusiastic insistence that it was _real_. Of course, the fact that we're talking about _Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-a-bloody-prodigy, _lent a hand in persuading many of them. Blind faith in hero figures, apparently goes a long way towards dissolving one's common sense. In any case, it resulted in half of the Order wanting to drop everything and start following Potter's every whim, while Dumbledore insists, quite firmly, that changing all of their – _read 'his' –_ plans, and instead, following the plans of a 'child', is simply not an option. It's resulted in quite the division among the ranks, which leaves me curious as to who among them went and leaked this story to someone in the Ministry."

"My source said that he'd heard from a young Auror whom he could assure me, with great confidence, was very close to Albus Dumbledore, and that Harry Potter had come forward to the Headmaster as a Seer of considerable skill."

"A young Auror?" Severus echoed thoughtfully for a moment. "It's obviously not Shacklebolt or Moody, as neither of them would let sensitive Order information get out, nor are either of them 'young' by any reasonable definition. That really only leaves Tonks."

"Tonks?" Lucius echoed as his brow puckered in thought. "Isn't that the name of Andromeda's mudblood husband?"

"Yes. Nymphadora Tonks is Narcissa's niece."

Lucius blinked once before making an exasperated sort of shake of his head. "And the girl went and joined up with Dumbledore's lot? Great Circe, I hope poor Cissy doesn't find out. She's still heartbroken over having cut ties with her oldest sister – heaven forbid she finds out her sister's daughter has gone and gotten herself caught up in that man's lunacy."

Severus hummed indifferently. "It is interesting, though. Tonks is still very young and idealistic, but she was also a Hufflepuff; generally they're all caught up in loyalty and such rot. I'm surprised she'd go against Dumbledore's decree for absolute secrecy on the matter, and let the information get out."

"A _Hufflepuff_? Great Merlin, how awful. I wonder if Cissy knows..." Lucius exclaimed looking scandalized.

Severus rolled his eyes dramatically. "I believe that Ted Tonks was also a Hufflepuff when he was in school."

"Ugh – still... a descendant from the Black line in _Hufflepuff_. Cygnus must have turned in his grave the day of the girl's sorting."

"I rather believe that Cygnus Black probably gave up on his eldest daughter when she chose to run off with a muggleborn," Severus drawled.

"She was never disowned for it," Lucius murmured distractedly before sighing and running a hand through his long blond hair. "I suppose none of this really matters... the distraction is nice, I suppose. Keeps me from thinking about _other things_... things like Harry bloody Potter."

"Just try to tolerate his inclinations to _tease_ you," Severus said with a dismissive sort of wave of his hand. "He's not trying to trick you into loosing your cool just so that he can curse you – if anything, he's trying to get you to lose your cool so that he can _laugh_ at you."

"Which is an affront to the Malfoy honor!" Lucius growled in frustration.

"Lucius, you've crawled on your hands and knees, _in the dirt_, and kissed the bare feet of a creature who looked more like a snake than a man; been crucioed by that creature, and then _thanked him_ when he was done because you were grateful that he hadn't felt inclined to do something _worse_. _That_ is an affront to the Malfoy honor. Potter is the reason that the Dark Lord is no longer a livid, irrational, monster. I think you can learn to tolerate his tendency to find amusement in teasing you, if absolutely necessary."

Lucius scowled and looked away, refusing to say anything in response to such a statement.

"I just wish I knew what the _big secret_ is that he's hiding. I can't stand that I feel like I'm the only one who _doesn't know._"

Severus rolled his eyes. "_I_ know, the Dark Lord knows, and supposedly, Draco knows. That's three people. Lucius, you are hardly the _only person_ who does not know."

"_Everyone around me knows! _ It's obscenely frustrating that even _my own son knows_, while it is kept hidden from me! Can you truly not tell me anything, Severus?"

Severus gave an exasperated sigh and leveled Lucius with an annoyed glare. "We have been over this before, Lucius. Have patience. If, and when, Harry Potter or the Dark Lord feels inclined to fill you in, _they will_."

Lucius made something of an impatient growling sound, and was about to speak again when there was a knocking on the door to the study. Lucius looked towards it and mentally checked the ward that was active at the door. It was a house elf.

"Come in."

The short, bug-eyed, and shriveled little thing pushed the door open and quickly came inside a few feet before bowing obscenely low. "Master, there is an unexpected visitor at the front gate," the elf squeaked.

Lucius frowned, wondering in frustrated anger for a moment if it was another surprise raid from Arthur Weasley's department in the Ministry. It had been years since they'd last attempted it, so he wouldn't be terribly surprised if the damned blood traitor had managed to get enough support to try the maneuver again.

"Who is it?" he demanded of the elf.

"Sirius Black, sir," the elf squeaked, causing both wizards in the room to widen their eyes in surprise. "He's be being very insistent, Master, that he be allowed in to see Master's guest, Mr. Harry Potter."

Lucius sneered, "Black is hardly in a position to be _insistent_ about anything in regards to Potter. The man _lost_ his custody petition."

The elf grasped it's knobby, wrinkled hands around a bit of the pillow case it was wearing and wrung at the fabric nervously, as he looked up at Lucius with terrified eyes. "Mr. Sirius Black was quite determined, Master. He declared that if he didn't see that Mr. Harry Potter was alive and well, with his own eyes, that he was going to bring Aurors and storm down the gates."

Severus scoffed loudly, and dramatically rolled his eyes skyward.

Lucius gave a great, frustrated growl before pushing himself up from behind his desk. "Bloody lunatic," he grumbled under his breath.

"You can't seriously consider such a threat, viable?" Severus said with a scoff.

"He's _Sirius Black_, Severus. The Ministry is terrified of him after the debacle his escape and retrial caused. And while I'm sure that there would be many in the Ministry who would come to my defense against any such demands to 'storm my gates', I'm also sure that there would be a select group that would be more than eager to take advantage of his ridiculous little temper tantrum to get inside my wards."

Severus grimaced, obviously seeing the legitimacy of Lucius' argument.

"Show Black into the drawing room," Lucius said to the elf, that then quickly vanished with a pop to fulfill his orders.

"What are you going to do about the fact that Potter _isn't actually here?"_ Severus asked.

"I'm going to greet Black and then I'm going to floo the Dark Lord's manor and inform his elf of my unexpected visitor. Hopefully, Potter will be in a position to return in a timely manner."

"And if he's not?"

Lucius heaved a frustrated sigh, "Then I suppose we'll just have to keep Black entertained until Potter _is_ in a position to return."

"_We?_"

"Yes, _we._ I'll be damned if I'm going to go deal with that idiot blood-traitor, alone."

It took a bit more convincing, but Lucius did finally manage to drag Severus out of his private study and down to the drawing room near the entrance hall. When they entered the room, Black was already there, scowling at his surroundings, and standing quite rigid in the middle of the lavishly ornate room as if he were convinced that touching anything would contaminate him – or curse him. His gaze turned on them instantly – locking mostly on Snape and shifting to a narrow-eyed suspicious glare.

"Snape? What are _you_ doing here?" Black rudely questioned before any greetings had even taken place.

"I do believe that I have far more business being here than _you_ do," Severus drawled back.

"I have every right to check on my godson to make sure he's happy and _healthy, _and I'll check on him whenever I damn well please!" Sirius snapped.

"I would certainly hope not," Lucius drawled, "there are such things as _common curtsey_, Black. I would like to hope that even you would have learned enough etiquette from your parents to know that it's terribly rude to storm someone's home without an invitation or so much as a note of warning."

Black turned his wild-eyed glare on Lucius then, full-force. "Where's Harry? I want to see him."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "This is why people don't just show up at other people's homes _unannounced_. Harry isn't even here. He's visiting a friend's home at the moment."

"Whose?" Black demanded.

"I hardly see how that is any of your business," Lucius sneered.

"Oh really? Well, I think it damn well _is_ my business. How am I supposed to know that you didn't hand Harry over to be sacrificed before your old master, the second you got him back here? You claim he's at a '_friends house'_, but won't tell me where or who! How am I to know he's even still alive!"

"Bloody hell, Black, Azkaban has clearly left you with both questionable sanity, _and_ an over-inflated sense of paranoia," Lucius drawled. "Harry is _fine_. If you truly insist, then I will floo the home he is visiting and ask he return. I do not know how long it will take, however."

Black narrowed his eyes and seemed to be scrutinizing Lucius and Severus both, for signs that they were just stringing him along or deceiving him in some way. He never actually looked convinced one way or the other, but he did eventually give them a stiff nod. "Fine. Go floo him."

Lucius rolled his eyes dramatically and quickly strode from the room with an exasperated huff.

Severus grimaced as it became obvious he was being left alone with Black.

Lucius wasted little time in going to the hearth in the entry hall and casting a quick privacy ward around it that would prevent even his side of the conversation from being overheard, and threw a handful of floo powder into the flames.

– – –

AN: I've already got another five pages written, and the next scene is mostly all planned out in my head as well. Hopefully it won't prove too difficult to find more time to keep working on it.


	24. Chapter 23

AN – to all the prudes and homophobes, and the teens under 17, all of whom **shouldn't even be reading this story** at all –

**Skip the first two pages**

This chapter starts out with man x man intimacy.

(Why are you reading a slash story, if you don't like slash? That's irrational. Go away.)

– –

Oh! I meant to put this in a note at the start and managed to forget!

So Raining Ink (ffnet) actually updated Out of the Night! (zomg) after it sitting without an update fore AGES and since it had been so long, and it was a good excuse, I re-read the whole thing again last week.

If you haven't read Out of the Night - go read it.  
Seriously. It's brilliant, and has inspired me so much. Whistling for faries and lighting fires with your breath are taken straight out of that fic. She has the most brilliant take on wizarding culture.

There's no pairing - it's not het or slash - just a really really great story... that's incomplete, and very very very slowly updated.

So be warned. But still read it. It's brill.  
/s/5087313/1/Out-of-the-Night

– –

Marvolo woke with a startled gasp that morphed into a long low moan as his previously sleep-consumed world was overtaken with a flood of warm, wet, pleasure, and an over abundance of magic thrumming through his veins. The central origin of all this pleasure and magic and sensation, was his groin, but it was all so overwhelming and startling that it took several seconds longer before he was able to fully appreciate just what the devil was going on.

He gasped again, his back arching and his head thrown back against the pillow as another wave of glorious pleasure and arousal flooded his senses. He let out another startled noise and finally managed to look down, confirming that, yes, Harry was performing fellatio on him.

The little imp was looking up at him through his fringe, grinning around his cock and looking entirely too pleased with himself. He was also looking quite _young_. It was startling to find that Harry was once again a teenager, and it took Marvolo's hormones-and-magic-flooded mind a moment to register that the aging potion must have worn off sometime during the night. And while there was definitely a part of his mind that presently found the idea of doing much of anything sexual with Harry while he looked like this, it was a very _small_ part, and most of him was of the opinion that it really didn't matter because they both knew that Harry wasn't _actually_ fourteen. He just looked like it, at the moment.

Marvolo closed his eyes, because it felt too damn good to let himself worry about inconsequential things like artificial age barriers, but he did make a mental note to get the recipe to Harry's aging potion and keep a stock of it in the manor for whenever Harry visited. Harry managed to draw forth another involuntary moan from Marvolo's lips as he began doing the most sinful thing with his tongue around Marvolo's glans, while continuing to move up and down along his shaft.

And then the little minx went and started trailing his fingers over Marvolo's inner thighs, drawing tantalizing trails of magic in their wake, and finally pushing his legs further apart to give himself more room to settle himself between them. One hand moved back to hold the base of Marvolo's cock as Harry shifted slightly in his position between Marvolo's legs, while the other hand slipped down and gently began stroking his balls.

Another strangled moan of surprise shot through Marvolo at the mere touch to his scrotum and the jolt of magic that the direct contact sent through him. He was so obscenely sensitive right now – he'd never experienced anything like it.

He could tell, from some small part of his mind coherent enough to register such thoughts, that Harry was feeling quite smug with his ability to make Marvolo fall apart like this, and at some point, in the past, Marvolo might have been slightly annoyed by something like that, but mostly right now, he was far too lost in the blissful pleasure Harry was causing him, to give a damn. Plus it was _Harry_, being proud of himself for making _Marvolo feel amazing._ Honestly, what the hell was wrong with that? Irrational personal pride be damned – he could be proud of Harry, because the imp was clearly ridiculously good with his mouth.

"Oh Harry," he moaned out breathily as his back arched up off the bed and one of his hands moved down, blindly searching for Harry's head, where it found it's way into his hair. Harry made a humming noise around Marvolo's cock in response and then that hand that had been fondling Marvolo's balls a moment before slid further down and began to massage the stretch of skin between the base of his balls and his arse. Marvolo thrust up into Harry's mouth, involuntarily, and spread his legs further apart in response to the tremendous rush of pleasure. Harry didn't even choke at the unexpected thrust, but his sense of smugness did seem to increase.

The massage continued for several seconds longer, while Harry also continued bobbing up and down on Marvolo's shaft. Marvolo felt like he was falling, and spinning, and his head was weightless and heavy at the same time. He'd started thrusting in rhythm with Harry at some point, although he couldn't quite register when it had started, but Harry just kept taking him in, allowing him to fuck his mouth while his hand continued it's ministrations, and occasionally slipping a bit further south, sending those delicious sparks of sexual pleasure mixed with magic, into the over-sensitive tissue of his anus.

And then the world exploded and he came with a hoarse roar, while Harry moaned desperately around his cock and thrust his own hips against the bed beneath where he was sprawled out between Marvolo's legs.

Marvolo didn't think that Harry had been doing anything to stimulate his own member, and yet it still seemed Harry was able to reach climax as well, just from Marvolo's own intense pleasure, moving along their link.

Harry seemed to sense the precise moment when Marvolo's cock became too sensitive to stand any further contact, because he let it slide from his mouth at just the right time, along with a few dribbles of Marvolo's cum, as it escaped from the corner of Harry's mouth. It looked positively sinful – especially considering Harry's physical appearance. It was that youthful appearance that managed to fully quell the urge Marvolo's more perverted side had suddenly been possessed by, to grab Harry and help clean that cum off his lover's face with his own tongue. Had Harry still looked to be in his mid-twenties, Marvolo doubted he would have hesitated at all.

He definitely needed to stock aging potion.

Harry sat back on his haunches, grinning down at Marvolo with that damned smug grin, and that bit of wholly inappropriate cum still on his chin, and Marvolo finally had to just roll his eyes and grin back because the whole thing was just ridiculous.

*** - * - end smut scene - * - ***

"Good morning," Harry chirped.

Marvolo snorted. "Good morning to you too. What was that for?"

Harry shrugged, still grinning. "Just felt like it. I also wanted to say thank you for last night."

"I'm quite sure I got a lot out of our encounters last night, myself. I hardly did it _just for you._"

"But you didn't have to start it the way you did. I know that rope binding is my kink, not yours."

"I could certainly get used to it," Marvolo said, leering up at him, hungrily.

Harry laughed and smiled even wider. "I just love the idea that you cared enough to even figure out that I would want that. And _then_ you went out of your way to research it and learn how to do it properly – _even _going so far as to go to a _muggle sex shop! _ That still just boggles my mind!" Harry exclaimed, smiling with both awe and amusement.

Marvolo made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's hardly as if I refuse to set foot in any store operated by muggles simply because of my dislike of them. Use them when they're useful, and in this case they were useful. It's the same reasoning for using their financial market. Invest, earn a sizable profit; then use the money against them.

"And as for the sex shop - Britain's wizards seem to have remained exceptionally prudish and have a pathetically small market of sex toys and accessories. It's hardly like the spells and charmed objects _don't exist_. It's stupid, really. The French wizards have a booming market of sex-related spellbooks, charmed objects, and potions."

Harry started laughing and let himself fall back on the bed and rolled to his side so that he could prop himself up on his elbow and look over at the other man. "This is so surreal. I love it."

"I'm glad that I amuse you," Marvolo said dryly, but feeling quite pleased and fond of Harry at the moment.

Harry let out a contented sigh, smiling over at Marvolo for several seconds. "But really – thank you. And not just for the whole, bondage thing, but for after that too... and before that, actually. The whole thing, really."

Again, Marvolo made a dismissive sort of gesture, trying to play off how awkward he felt with not being sure how to respond to such genuine gratitude.

The previous evening, after a brief post-coital lie in, the two did finally get back up, out of his bed. They ate dinner that Milly prepared for them, since Harry had not actually eaten since breakfast, and then the two had spent some time talking about Harry's day – specifically, Harry's encounter with Dumbledore at the train station, and then his opportune run-in with Fudge in the Ministry. Shortly after that, the two had ended up back in Marvolo's study, where they ended up snogging rather enthusiastically, and eventually ended up on the floor where they shagged, once again. Their second encounter was somewhat more 'traditional', as nothing quite as extravagant as the previous session of bondage was attempted. That didn't make it any less fantastic, however.

The two eventually ended up in Marvolo's bed, and Marvolo had fallen asleep with Harry cuddled up against his side and his arm draped over Marvolo's chest – an arrangement that had felt both incredibly weird, and undeniably wonderful, at the same time. Marvolo had never actually shared his bed with anyone for an entire night before, and he most certainly had never felt inclined to allow anyone else to _cuddle_ against his side before. But with Harry it was just... right.

_Merlin, he was going soft. _Weirdly, stupidly, sentimental.

Well... _when in Rome – _

Honestly, Marvolo felt it was more appropriate for _he_ to be thanking _Harry_, not the other way around, but such expressions of gratitude were not his usual forte, and so instead, he said nothing.

"Shall we give up on our indulgence of sloth, and go enjoy a shower?" Marvolo asked.

Harry's brows rose with interest. "Together?"

"If you wish."

"Yeah, but what do _you_ wish?" Harry said, throwing it back at him.

"I want, whatever makes you happy," Marvolo said smirking as he leaned forward onto his elbow and kissed Harry on the lips.

Harry chuckled into the kiss and pulled back to roll his eyes. "You; being romantic; is weird."

"Do you doubt my sincerity?" Marvolo said with mostly mock hurt in his tone.

"I wouldn't say that, _exactly..._" Harry trailed off, giving Marvolo what was intended to look like a suspicious, scrutinizing look, if not for the grin of amusement that plastered its way across Harry's face, with it.

Marvolo was about to retort when a knocking came at the door, drawing both of their attention.

Marvolo could tell from a quick check with the wards, that it was Milly. "Come in," he called out and the door was pushed open just enough for the house elf to slip through.

"Lord Master, sir, Mr. Malfoy is callings through the floo," the elf squeaked after coming to a stop a foot beyond the door with her knobbly arms clasped behind her back.

Marvolo sighed in mild annoyance. "What does Lucius want?" he asked in a drawl while Harry sat up, cross-legged, on the bed, with the sheet bunched up over his legs and around his waist.

"Mr. Malfoy is sayings that someones called Sirius Black is beings at his manor, insisting on seeings that Master Harry is beings alive."

Harry snorted and let his head fall into his palm. "Oh Merlin, you've got to be kidding."

"Sirius Black is at Malfoy manor?" Marvolo echoed with mild incredulity.

"I guess I shouldn't really be surprised," Harry said with a sigh as he pushed the sheets off of his legs and spent a moment untangling them so that he could slide out of the bed.

Marvolo leered over at his pale arse and his wiry limbs as he went, enjoying the view, despite the age shift. He wasn't really _bad_ looking for a teenager, honestly, but it really wasn't Marvolo's preference in the end.

"Hey, do you mind if I transfigure a pair of your pants? The ones you gave me last night to wear after you disintegrated my other pair, won't fit now that the potion has worn off," Harry asked as he bent down picking up some of the scattered clothing from the day before.

"I'll give you clean clothes and you can transfigure them," Marvolo said, finally climbing out of the bed himself and walking, nude, towards a large double-door wardrobe that, upon opening, appeared more like the entrance to a walk-in closet. Marvolo climbed up and stepped inside, spending a moment grabbing a few things off hangers and shelves before climbing back out and tossing one set of clothes onto the bed beside Harry while he began to dress himself.

"You can leave, Milly. If Lucius is still there, tell him that Harry will be along shortly," Marvolo called out to the house elf, who, after a quick 'Yes Master,' bowed and quickly left.

Harry picked through the clothes Marvolo had tossed him, and seemed satisfied. He slipped on a pair of underpants and then some black trousers – which were too long in the legs and wide in the waist – and then grabbed his wand from the night stand to transfigure them smaller.

"You perform a killing curse wandlessly, but you use your wand to shrink down a pair of trousers?" Marvolo said with some amusement as he leaned against a low table and ran his finger up the center of the double-breasted vest he'd just slid on, to secure the two rows of small satin-covered buttons, closed.

Harry snorted, but didn't take his focus off of putting on the borrowed clothes and shrinking them to size.

"I'll take a rain check on that shower," Harry said as he finished with a black silk button-down shirt with a mandarin collar and voluminous sleeves that buttoned along his forearm.

"Next time you spend the night, we will ideally, not be interrupted so rudely the morning after," Marvolo drawled, giving Harry a look that the two held for a moment, each grinning slightly at their mutually affirmed agreement that this would not be an isolated event. Harry ducked his head slightly, grinning quite widely before getting a better control over his expression. "Well, I guess I ought to get over to the Malfoys – no doubt it's taking every bit of Lucius' patience to refrain from hexing Sirius. He's really quite good at annoying people he doesn't like."

"When you get the chance, write out the ingredients and steps to brewing your aging potion, in the charmed book. I'll brew a batch and keep it in stock," Marvolo said before he walked over to Harry and waved his hand in front of Harry's face, banishing the dried signs of their earlier activity.

Harry blinked at him once before snorting and running his hand over his face. "How do I look?"

"Like you are in desperate need of acquainting yourself with a hair brush," Marvolo drawled earning him a bark of laughter and a shove from Harry.

"So, '_normal', _then?" Harry said.

"Pretty much," Marvolo replied, deadpan.

Harry, still grinning, stepped up and pushed himself up on his toes to kiss Marvolo on the lips. "I had fun. Thanks for talking me into it."

"Thank you for seeing reason and allowing me to indulge you," Marvolo whispered back.

Harry grinned and stepped back down. With the aging potion they were basically the same height, but in his fourteen-year-old body, he still had another growth spurt or two before they'd find themselves equal in that degree.

"Can I leave Jörmy here? It's been so long since he's been able to stretch out in his full size for long periods of time."

"Of course."

"Right then. I'll be going – I'll drop you a line through the book later with the recipe and when I think I can come by next – sound good?"

"Sounds good."

– –

_Those who have been present at any deliberative assemblies of men will have observed how erroneous their opinions often are; and in fact, unless they are directed by superior men, they are apt to be contrary to all reason. _

_Niccoló Machiavelli_

– –

Harry managed to find the entry hall to Marvolo's manor without getting lost or having to call Milly to him to help him find his way, which he was mildly grateful for as he hadn't entirely been paying that close attention the previous night when he'd walked these halls. The home was impressively large, and Harry made another mental note to ask Marvolo how the hell he'd come by it.

It wasn't as large as Malfoy Manor, but it was still big, and still impressive. Also like Malfoy Manor, and the homes of most paranoid purebloods, the anti-apparition wards covered the whole house except for the entry hall, so Harry had had little option but to find it before leaving. Upon reaching his destination, Harry ignored the empty Floo hearth and instead spun on the spot, disapperating and reappearing a moment later in the Malfoy's entry hall – again, the only spot in _that_ house free from wards of the same nature.

Side-along apparition was probably Harry's least favorite form of magical transportation, with portkeying being second, and flooing coming in third. In contrast, however, apparating _himself_ wasn't all that bad once you got used to it. With apparition, _he_ was the one in control, and he had grown, over time, to know exactly how best to do it with the least discomfort and disorientation. He had also gotten quite good at doing it silently.

Upon appearing in the Malfoy's hall, he found himself face-to-face with an utterly stunned Lucius Malfoy. In fact, the man literally jumped upon seeing Harry appear and then just stood there gaping for a moment, as if he were unsure what to do or say.

"Good morning, Lucius," Harry said in a chipper greeting that he did almost entirely because he thought it might throw the man off kilter even more, but also partly because he actually was feeling quite chipper this morning.

Lucius blinked at him once before seeming to go through a forceful transition where he smoothed out his features to his normal outward pureblood calm, and tried to mask any indication of his nerves. "Good morning," he replied. The end hung awkwardly as if he had intended to say 'Potter, or Mr. Potter, Harry, or maybe even _My Lord_, but in the end, he really didn't know which to pick from and had just stopped, instead.

"So Sirius is here?" Harry asked and Lucius nodded. "Yes. He's in the drawing room with Severus. I believe Narcissa joined them a few minutes ago as well."

Harry barked out a laugh. "He's in there with _Severus?_ Oh, that's right... I'd almost forgotten that he was going to drop by this morning. I'd totally spaced on that." Harry snorted out a laugh, "And you somehow convinced him to keep Sirius company? How'd you manage that?"

Lucius just arched a single brow in response, as the two of them had begun walking and were already at the door to the drawing room.

Harry just grinned and shook his head as he pushed the doors open and strode inside. What he found was nearly enough to get him snickering again. Both Sirius and Snape were sitting, very stiffly, and _clearly_ uncomfortable, in a pair of chairs next to each other, separated only by a small round end table, while Narcissa sat, perched perfect and primly, on a couch opposite them with a tray of tea service on a low table in front of her.

Both Sirius and Snape were holding cups of tea that neither looked like they wanted, and both were occasionally looking over at each other with glares of death in their eyes. Narcissa seemed to be acting as if none of this was going on, and was prattling on about something or another, when Harry cleared his voice to draw their attention.

She turned to look over her shoulder towards the door and smiled warmly at him. Harry beamed back and strode directly over to her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed happily, "Good morning dear!" She reached out as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Good morning, Narcissa, you look absolutely radiant this morning," Harry exclaimed as he bowed at the waist, took her offered hand and kissed the back of her knuckles.

She twittered girlishly behind her other hand, and smiled at him with mirth in her eyes. "You are such a charmer, Harry. We missed you last night at dinner. I do hope you ate."

"Marcus made sure I was fed. His house elf is a very good cook," Harry replied easily before glancing at the two men, still sitting stiffly across from them, glaring at each other. He then leaned in closer to Narcissa and spoke in a conspiratorial voice, "I do hope that they haven't given you too much trouble. Personally, I'm amazed that the room is still in one piece! No doubt that's _your_ doing, my dear.. You truly are a miracle-worker. I'm stunned that Lucius would be reckless enough to leave them alone here at all. It was quite wise of you to come and mediate. For the sake of the heirlooms, at the very least," Harry said in a serious tone.

Narcissa laughed and gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. "Oh, _you._ Really, Harry."

Harry grinned at her playfully and finally stood to face the two men in the room, one scowling in annoyance – Snape – and the other looking a bit off kilter.

"What a pleasant surprise; Professor – Sirius. Good morning," Harry said, smiling far too brightly for Snape, if the grimace the man gave in return was anything to go by.

"Yes... _pleasant_," Snape drawled sarcastically. "Well, now that you are here, there is no reason for me to remain," Snape said, pushing himself to his feet, sparing a moment to sneer in Sirius' direction, and abandoning his tea cup, before turning his gaze on Narcissa. "It was lovely seeing you, Cissy. Thank you for the tea."

"Oh, don't mention it, Severus. You really must drop by more often. I keep hoping that one of these days I'll finally convince you to attend one of our galas, again. You have still been receiving the invitations, haven't you?"

"You know my schedule rarely permits for such frivolities."

"If you say so," Narcissa said, giving him a knowing smirk.

"Lucius," Snape said, turning his gaze on the doorway where Lucius had remained after following Harry inside, "there were a few other issues that we still needed to discuss, I believe."

"Yes, of course, Severus. Harry – do you want... _company_, or are you alright looking after our... _guest, _on your own?" Lucius asked, finishing it with a rather derisive note to the 'guest' part.

"I'll be fine, Lucius. Thank you," Harry said easily, smiling politely back at him, as Snape went over and joined him by the door.

"Very well," Lucius said before turning his gaze on Sirius. "Black," was all he said in parting as he gave a very stiff nod of his head.

Sirius just narrowed his eyes and gave an equally stiff nod back.

Lucius and Snape left the room and Narcissa took one last sip of her tea before setting it down on the tray that lay on the low table in the center of the seating arrangement. "Well, I suppose I ought to give the two of you some time to speak. Cousin Sirius – it was a pleasure seeing you again, after so many years. We really cannot allow so many years come between us again."

"Yeah, well they weren't big on letting in visitors at Azkaban," Sirius grumbled.

Narcissa made a troubled little noise in her throat and shook her head sadly. "Yes, I know. I did inquire after you a few times in the beginning. But they won't even let me visit Bella – _My own sister!_ It's a travesty. And you – not having ever been given a proper trial. There's no telling who else might still be trapped in that monstrous place, without ever seeing the light of proper justice," she huffed and shook her head. "Far too heavy of matters to be discussed so early in the morning. Harry, dear, let me know if there's anything you need at all."

"I will Cissy. Thank you for your hospitality."

"Don't even mention it. We _are_ family, after all," she said with a warm smile before standing up and trailing her fingers along his cheek for a moment and then patting him on the shoulder. She turned her gaze on Sirius, "Don't be a stranger, Sirius. There are no prison walls keeping us apart now."

Sirius seemed to be so thrown off balance that he just nodded his head awkwardly as she gave them a parting wave and left from the room.

Harry watched as she left, grinning softly before turning his gaze back onto Sirius. "So. Hi."

Sirius blinked at him. "Er... hi."

Harry walked over and plopped down, unceremoniously, onto the couch that Narcissa had occupied so primly only a moment earlier. "So what the hell are you doing here? And it better be more substantial than 'I wanted to make sure you aren't dead', because I was about to get laid in the shower, when Lucius called me back here."

"Hey – I – wait, what?"

Harry arched his brows while Sirius blinked at him again.

"Did you just say you were about to get laid in the shower?"

"Yes I did just say that. Although, admittedly, I might not have actually gotten laid in the shower – we might have just ended up snogging, or... hell, maybe we would have just gotten _clean_ – Merlin knows enough bodily fluids were exchanged last night to warrant it... and this morning, too, for that matter... But, _hey_! A guy can still keep his hopes up, can't he?"

Sirius barked out an incredulous laugh before gaping at Harry with a mixture of amusement and shock.

"Are you serious?"

"You know that's far to obvious an opening, don't you? Do you know how much will power it takes for me to _not_ make a joke out of that?"

"I – who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?"

Harry laughed easily, letting his head lull to the side slightly and grinning with amusement at the befuddled wizard across from him. "Oh, I'm still me. Just me, in much lighter spirits. I _did_ have a particularly brilliant night, after all."

"It must have been good because this you is night and day different than the you I met back in Hogsmeade, in February." Sirius observed with befuddled amusement.

"Of _course_ it was good! I just had the best shag of _my life!_ I'm in a bloody _fantastic _mood! But it could have been even _better_, if you hadn't gone and stormed Malfoy Manor, so I repeat – why are you here?"

Sirius' jaw floundered for a moment before he ducked his head a bit, looking a bit embarrassed. "Er... I uhm... wanted to make sure you weren't dead."

Harry rolled his eyes skyward and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "_Really_, now, Sirius. I told you that I was going to be _fine_."

"_I know!_ But I had this dream last night and just... I don't know – I _freaked out!"_

"You had a dream," Harry deadpanned.

"Yeah – I dreamt that the very second that Malfoy brought you back here, he apparated you again to some evil old castle and handed you over to You-Know-Who, surrounded by enormous evil snakes, and he had you tied up, and then he tortured you, and you _screamed_, and..." Sirius trailed off grimacing before glancing at Harry for a moment and then ducking his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, okay, I know I over-reacted._ It was just a dream_, but it really freaked me out..."

Harry blinked at him with stunned blankness for several seconds before shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, okay – that's screwy, but it also obviously didn't happen," Harry said dismissively, rolling his eyes.

"Well, yeah, I see _that_," Sirius groused.

"So was that it, then? You just had a crazy dream, freaked out, and wanted to make sure I wasn't bound and gagged in Voldemort's castle dungeon?"

"No! That's not it – I dohave another reason for being here," Sirius argued quickly.

"Oh yeah?" Harry replied with mild surprise.

"Yeah – well... I mean, okay, honestly I wasn't entirely sure if I was going to bring this up but... well, I guess if I screwed up you getting laid, maybe I owe you something..."

Harry laughed. "You definitely owe me."

Sirius looked up at him, grinning. "You really got laid last night?"

"Yu-p," Harry said, popping the 'p' and grinning rather smugly, as he raised his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together.

"You are clearly in a much better mood than the last time I saw you," Sirius observed again, but with a laugh this time.

"A good shag will do that to a bloke."

Sirius laughed again. "I feel like I should probably be scolding you about having sex when you're too young, but I lost my v-card during fourth year, so I'm hardly one to speak."

"Nope, you're not," Harry said easily, still grinning.

"So who was it?"

"Hmm?"

"The erm, guy? Guy, right? I mean, Remus told me that there was this interview you gave where you said –"

"Yes, he's a guy," Harry said rolling his eyes slightly and nodding his head.

"Right. Yeah, so er – who?"

"You wouldn't know him," Harry said dismissively.

"He your boyfriend?"

"I..." Harry paused twisting up his face in thought, "I really don't know. That seems like an obscenely weird label to give him. I mean, like... really weird." Harry laughed and shrugged. "But I guess, yeah. Probably. It's not like I'm gonna be seeing anyone else, so for as long as this thing between us works out, I'd say we're... _dating_. It was kind of unplanned. He invited me over, and we just somehow ended up snogging and it just went from there."

"Wow. Are you drunk? Because you're really in a sharing mood."

Harry snorted. "You'd think I was, wouldn't you? I think I'm still high on endorphins."

"N-Dolphins? You're not doing drugs are you?"

Harry snorted and shook his head, "It's a muggle term for chemicals the body releases into your bloodstream that give a natural high during sexual stimulation... Nevermind. No, I'm not on drugs."

"Okay," Sirius said warily.

"I seem to recall you saying you had a valid reason for being here?" Harry asked, deciding to try and get their conversation back onto something more productive.

"Yeah, I guess... it isn't really _one thing_, more like a culmination of stuff, I guess... I'm not even sure why I'm telling you this... I mean, it does involve you, but..."

"How about you try starting from the beginning?" Harry offered. "You might be a bit more coherent that way."

Sirius heaved a sigh and leaned back in the armchair he was perched in, looking as if he were pouting. "I guess it's just... okay, well you know about the Order, obviously... because of your visions and all that –"

"Right," Harry confirmed with a simple nod and a wave for Sirius to continue.

"I... well, I mean... I... I _told them_, some of what you told me. The part about you being a seer, and what you saw coming with that war with the muggles," Sirius said and looked up at Harry with a rather guilt-ridden grimace.

Harry just blinked at him for a moment an nodded, "Well, yeah. That's pretty much what I'd expected to happen. Honestly, they needed to know."

Relief flooded Sirius face before it shifted into a scowl. "That's what Snape said... that you told me because you wanted me to pass it along."

Harry just shrugged. "He's come to know me pretty well."

Sirius' pout returned before he huffed out a heavy breath and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Right, so the Order has known about your visions and what you said you've seen for about five months now. Dumbledore has been insistent that whole time that we should stay the course we were already on and keep preparing for Voldemort, but some of us disagree and think that we should try working with you – find out what sorts of things you think would help to make sure we were in a better position for whenever the shit hits the fan, so to speak. It's uh... caused a bit of a rift, I guess."

Harry raised his eyebrows with innocent questioning.

"But last night it sort of came to a head. We had a meeting scheduled, and Dumbledore was running late. Everyone was talking about that letter you wrote to the Prophet. It was turning into a pretty big argument by the time Dumbledore finally showed up. He was really riled up – I mean, I don't think I've ever seen him that agitated. He pretty much ignored most of us at first because he was just talking with Doge and the others that actually have some political influence. He was going on about two different bills that looked like they could be used to get your agenda through within a year, and he was talking like it was imperative that they put a stop to them. Once the rest of us caught on, some of us kind of got up in arms over it – saying that maybe we should be trying to help. I mean, obviously, being able to perform magic without wands would probably be a big deal if we ended up in a war against the muggles. That was that you were aiming for with that, wasn't it?"

Harry's brows raised a bit with mildly impressed surprise and he nodded. "It is."

"Right, well, Dumbledore turned on me and kind of got confrontational about me needing to face my _responsibility_, and that if I wasn't going to use my seats in the Wizengamot, then I should allow someone else put them to good use, and then I just sort of _exploded_." Sirius heaved a tired sigh and sank back into the chair again, scowling at a vacant spot on the floor between his chair and the low round table. Finally he looked back up, meeting Harry's curious gaze. "I told him that maybe I _would_ put them to good use, and stormed out. But honestly, I've been thinking about it for a while now. What you said, back in February about people with the power having the responsibility to wield it; the _responsibility_ to stay informed?

"I've got seven seats," Sirius said resolutely, meeting Harry's eyes. "That's a big deal. It's the legacy of the Ancient and Most Noble house of Black, and because of that, I've shunned it, and ignored the _responsibility_ that comes with those seats." Sirius heaved a sigh and paused for a moment before nodding, as if to himself. "But over these last few months I've been trying to... trying to be better _informed_. I've been trying to make sense of what's going on with politics. I read your articles, by the way. All of them."

Harry's brows arched again. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Any thoughts?"

Sirius chuckled. "I think you'll make a good politician someday."

"How so?"

"Even the stuff I wouldn't normally agree with – you made good points. You made me see why you would argue for the issue to go that way. But you didn't seem biased either – you argued the virtues and disadvantages of both sides, and showed why you'd come to the conclusion that you had. Why you honestly _believed_ that one way was better than the other. And knowing what I know – what you've said is coming – I can also see why you'd come to some of those conclusions even better. Even if the other path might be nicer – a more _ideal goal _to work towards – we don't have time to muddle about with that. And if we do, it'll leave us in a weaker position when the war starts up."

Harry nodded his head. "That's precisely right."

Sirius nodded slowly as well before heaving a sigh. "So... so I told Dumbledore – I told him, maybe I _would_ take up my responsibility. Maybe I _will_ sit in on the Wizengamot's summer session. But I don't think I'm going to be placing my votes in his favor."

"Don't just blindly follow my lead either," Harry said with scolding warning. "If you're really going to do this, you need to do it because you want to, and because you care. You have to vote the way _you_ want to vote. I told you before when we talked back in February, that you should never just blindly throw your votes in behind someone else, just because you're too lazy to make up your own mind."

"I know. I won't, and you're right," Sirius said firmly. "I'm glad to hear you say that, though."

"I wouldn't want you to start this up, just to get back at Dumbledore, either. Politics are a muddy, nasty business. It's tedious, and boring, and infuriating, at the best of times. _You will not enjoy it._ You're not the sort of person that can get a thrill from the game. You'll get invested in the issues, and get emotional, and angry and frustrated. If you go into it, being lazy, and just planning on throwing your votes in line with how my seats are voted, you'll lose interest and give it up before the summer session is even complete. Don't just do this for me, or for revenge against Dumbledore, or whatever – you have to do it because you believe its important, or else you'll never stick to it."

Harry and Sirius held each other's gaze for several long beats and slowly, Sirius nodded his head. "Thanks. I'll take that to heart."

"Good."

A somewhat awkward silence spread out then and Harry ended up reaching forwards towards the tea service and pouring a cup of tea before waving his hand over it and causing it to start steaming again.

"You know, I was really curious about that..." Sirius mused and Harry glanced at him while he added some milk into his cup.

"Hmm?"

"The wandless thing. You talked about you being able to do wandless magic because you've been learning it since you were young."

"Yup," Harry said easily as he brought the cup to his mouth and blew on it before taking a tentative sip.

"How much can you actually do? Wandlessly, I mean?"

Harry shrugged. "Quite a bit, I suppose."

"I remember how much of a struggle it was for the group of us – your father, me, and... well, how hard it was for us to master the animagus transformation, since it had to be done wandlessly. Remus always said that, the best he could figure, the only reason that James and I were able to do it as fast as we did, was because both of us had had magical training at home, before Hogwarts. It was just how my family operated, really. Teach them early, and the Ministry be damned. But once we got our wands, we never went back. James was the same – Dorea taught him early, of course. Don't think Charlus really approved, but he was just so happy to have James that he went along with whatever Dorea wanted."

Sirius' gaze was unfocused as if he were reliving memories in his mind for several beats before he shook his head and sighed. "Peter had the hardest time, and it was only after ages of coaching from James and I that he finally got it. But he never had a lick of magical training before coming to Hogwarts. His mum was very by-the-book. Always on the up-and-up." Sirius snorted derisively, scowling into the room for a moment before shaking his head.

"I wonder if it would have made any difference, if I'd have really tried to keep up on it – the wandless stuff. It just seemed like kids stuff though, back then. Little glowing lights, and whistling for faeries. Lighting candles with your breath. It was brilliant as a kid, but once I had my wand, it seemed silly to waste time with Little Magic." He sighed again and chuckled. "Of course, I never would have expected to have my wand snapped, and end up in prison, either."

Harry hummed in understanding. "Most kids don't have the focus to stick to it without proper motivation or guidance. Plus the approach used in teaching it, and the sorts of magic taught, is important, and even a lot of the families that teach their kids some magic before Hogwarts, don't really know the right way to approach it, for it to make a long-lasting difference."

"How do you know so much about this?" Sirius asked with a tinge of wonder in his voice.

Harry grinned and shrugged. "My visions are certainly part of it. The things I've seen in regards to how magic can be wielded by personal magic, as well as by calling upon external forces and bargaining with them to lend you their power."

Sirius' expression darkened a bit. "That sounds Dark, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is 'Dark'? And by whose definition? The literal denotation and the modern-day connotation of that word have come to mean to vastly different things. There's a stigma attached to it today with all these hang-ups and misrepresentations. Olde Magick is a powerful force, but the proper ways to commune with it have been lost to many when the traditions and practices went out of favor, almost entirely as the result of various propaganda companions waged by people in power at the time, with questionable motives – and those motives were rarely in line with why they claimed the magic was 'bad', but rather more often in line with something that would gain that person or group more power, or land, or influence. And of course sometimes it really was just honest prejudice. The mists of time have clouded the true history behind certain forms of magic, leaving fabrications and lies in their wake."

"I grew up in a house, surrounded with Dark magic and artifacts, Harry – you can't tell me it's all daisies and buttercups," Sirius replied, deadpan.

"Oh, I know it, but it's not all human sacrifice and blood-magic either," Harry shot back, pointedly. "Dark Magic is about risk, balance, personal sacrifice, and giving yourself over to the knowledge that the Magick of the universe is a force greater than any of us, you will only suffer if you try to bend it to your will in a fit of arrogance, but if you ask nicely, it _will_ be willing to let you borrow some of it's power, now and then."

"Oh Merlin, Harry... I don't like the idea of you dabbling in the Dark Arts," Sirius groaned with a pained expression as he twisted in his seat.

"I dabble in _magic, _Sirius. I don't discriminate against an entire 'branch' because some of the spells in that branch are nasty. I can learn and understand the spells in that branch that _aren't_ all that nasty, and use my own personal judgement as to where to draw the line. It's a personal choice, but I think it's a more informed choice than the Ministry's position to blanket ban the whole lot of it out of fear and ignorance."

Sirius grumbled and huffed, looking decidedly uncomfortable but finally he just shook his head and shrugged. "Fine, whatever. You just need to be careful. You know that your father and I were Aurors, right? We tracked down and arrested wizards practicing Dark magic. That was _our job_."

"Yeah, but it's not your job anymore, is it?" Harry pointed out with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

Sirius snorted. "Damn straight, it's not. Ministry can go suck a toad for all I care, now. You just need to be careful, is what I'm saying. The Ministry might not be able to prosecute you for learning magic as a kid and being able to perform it wandlessly now, but they can still come after you for practicing the Dark Arts, if they catch wind of it."

Harry waved him off with a dismissive gesture. "I'm not worried about the Ministry. Besides, I'm not actively practicing any Dark Arts. Seriously, I'm really not. I rarely have any reason to cast any dark spells. It just doesn't come up."

Sirius hummed before sighing lightly and shaking his head. "Alright, then. So er... how did we end up on this topic?"

"You were curious about my wandless magic."

"Ah, right."

"You want a demonstration or something?" Harry asked, mildly amused.

"Er – yes?" Sirius admitted sheepishly with a grin.

Harry chuckled, shrugged one shoulder and then held his hand, and the teacup in it, out. A moment later the cup floated up and levitated back over to the tea tray, without Harry seeming to do anything. A little twitch of Harry's finger and tea came floating out the spout of the stationary teapot and into Harry's cup, refilling it. An instant later, milk began to flow out of the small creamer container, through the air, and into the cup. It then began to swirl around until it was properly mixed. It bubbled for an instant and then calmed to a standstill with a hint of steam rising from the top.

Another small wiggle of Harry's finger and the cup floated back through the air to his outstretched hand.

"Wow," Sirius remarked with slightly raised eyebrows. "That's a lot of delicate little movements and you barely moved at all."

Harry smirked, shrugged, and took a sip of his tea. "I'll admit that it's a level of control that few would ever honestly master," Harry said a moment later.

"Remus said that none of the teachers had ever seen you perform anything wandlessly in their classes. He said that no one even realized you _could,_ until you took your OWLs."

"I kept the skill under their radar," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

"But you revealed it now?" Sirius asked, pointedly.

"It was the right time. I've got things all lined up, so the time was finally right to reveal it. That's all."

"_Things_ lined up?"

"Legislation. If you really do attend the summer Wizengamot sessions, you'll hear a few bits of legislation that I'm going to be supporting that will help guarantee young witches and wizards start getting exposure to magical instruction at a much younger age than before – and it will only take another year or two before these things really get put into action, since the process is already more than halfway done on at least one of them."

"Dumbledore mentioned those, I think," Sirius said with a nod. "Said they'd seemed innocent enough until this new revelation came about with your bid to legalize underage magic, but now he could see how they could be adjusted, just a little, to work towards your agenda. He said he wasn't sure if there was any chance that you, or Malfoy, had any hand in creating the legislation in the first place, but was sure that you'd take steps to use it now. Actually, quite a few of the others in the group were pretty on the fence about the whole thing because there were several of them that didn't see any harm in it at all – they thought it was pretty brilliant. But I already mentioned how much of a row some of us got into, at the last meeting.

"To be honest with you, I'm not sure there will be another full meeting like that for a long time, after that. Not sure some of the others would even go back, if there was one," Sirius said.

Harry's brows raised into his fringe and he had to fight off the enormous smirk that wanted to find its way onto his face.

"Well, that's certainly interesting to hear."

"So did you have a hand in making those bills? I mean – how does that even work? You only just sort of got some level of access to your seats, and it's still _through_ Malfoy, that you even have that much."

"I would prefer this detail to remain between the two of us, but yes, I helped to draft them. But the bills were introduced through other Wizengamot members who are both sympathetic to my goals, as well as more than eager for the attention brought to one by being the 'author' of a new bill that gets a large number of supportive co-sponsors, which these bills have gotten."

"You know, I get how Malfoy would probably go right along with the one that funds those magical primary schools, but I can't quite see him being the sort to like the idea of introducing muggleborns earlier."

"Lucius isn't thrilled with the idea of bring even more muggleborns in and earlier, but he definitely does approve of any measures that teach the muggleborns about our culture and history, earlier. It's their general ignorance of our society and how it works, that oftentimes offends the Whigs the most. Obviously, people like Lucius also dislike them because of their 'tainted' blood, but he can see past that to some extent, so long as they aren't right in your face with their_ muggle-ness_."

Sirius shook his head slightly before sighing. "Well, whatever."

"Anyway, I haven't gotten a chance to shower yet this morning, and I've got a number of other tasks that I know I'll need to address today as well, so I'm afraid I might need to ask that we cut this lovely visit short, soon."

Sirius blinked and then gave Harry a nod. "Yeah, sure, sure. I really did drop in unannounced and all that."

"That, you did," Harry said with a chuckle.

"So uhm... I guess..."

"I'll see you at the first meeting of the Wizengamot's session in two weeks, right?" Harry offered.

Sirius nodded his head slowly for a moment before grinning and giving a more determined nod. "Yeah. You will."

"Great. I look forward to the opportunity to convince you that the bills I support are worth supporting as well."

"I thought you didn't want me to just vote along with the same stuff you do?" Sirius asked.

"Of course I want you to vote for the same stuff I'm in favor of," Harry said with a laugh. "But I don't want you to vote for them just because I voted for them. I want you to learn about the legislation and decide to vote for them because they're worth voting for. I look forward to the opportunity to convince you that I'm right."

Sirius chuckled and shook his head fondly. "Alright kiddo. I'm... I'm glad I came today – although, I do apologize for depriving you of shower sex."

"Apology reluctantly accepted," Harry said airily.

Sirius snickered. "Yeah, well... I'm glad I got a chance to see you like this. You just seemed more... normal, today, I guess. I'm glad I caught you on a good day."

Harry leaned back and smirked. "Well, with any luck, I'll be getting laid frequently this summer, and my good mood can persist consistently until school resumes."

"So your beau doesn't go to Hogwarts?" Sirius asked.

"Nope. He's already out of school," Harry said with a wave as he sat forward and put his cup of tea back onto the low table. "The school months will suck, but this'll be my last year at Hogwarts, so I think I can survive."

"Well, I wish you luck, then," Sirius said as he stood up. Harry stood as well, and walked Sirius to the front door. The two exchanged polite goodbyes and Harry closed the door behind his godfather, smiling softly.

They would never have the same sort of relationship that Harry had often had with previous incarnations of his godfather, and they'd never totally see eye-to-eye on some political issues, but Harry felt, for the first time since setting himself onto this life's course, that he might not have to completely cut himself off from the man, after all.

He grinned widely to himself then, at the thought of informing Marvolo that the 7 dormant Black seats might not be so dormant anymore. And while they didn't have any guarantee that they'd get Sirius' votes on all of their legislation, Harry felt pretty damn confident that he could get them on the issues he would most want them on.

– –

AN: I posted a PWP Outtake from Again and Again, on my Archive of Our Own page.

Archiveofourown works/513388

It is not important to the story at all, so I saw no point in it being included in the story. Any additional smut outtakes will be posted there. If you can't get an account on Ao3 because of their waiting list, and as such, cannot subscribe to me there, you can join my Yahoo group. Whenever I post updates, I'll try to remember to send out a notice to my Yahoo group, alerting people to an update.


	25. Chapter 24

AN: So where the hell have I been, huh?

So back in October, my husband and I bought a new house and the majority of my freetime that month was spent moving and unpacking. My mom also came and visited for a week, so there was hosting on top of that. Just when things were settling down and returning to normalcy, and I finally had time to write again (Literally – I wrote about 12 pages on a Wednesday night and was all excited to have time the next day to write some more), when I got laid off the very next morning. So there was the emotional roller coaster of that whole thing. I'd worked there for seven years, and most certainly didn't see it coming. Anyway, I've ended up starting up my own business and I enjoy it and I'm making a pretty penny at the moment, but I'm busy ALL THE TIME. Seriously – no free time, what-so-ever. When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my kids, or cooking or cleaning something. So yeah – it's been a bit exhausting.

On top of that, it means I've had no time to really write. I've managed to pluck down a few paragraphs at a time, over the months, and finally felt like I'd hit a reasonable chapter break.

It's a long chapter – 22 pages long. Enjoy.

I intend to keep going, but no guarantees on how long it'll be, before I get another full chapter finished.

– – – – –

Harry stepped out of the bathroom across the hall from his room with nothing but a bath robe on, while he toweled at his head with a soft woolen flannel. He came to an abrupt stop as he found himself face-to-face with a rather cross-looking Draco Malfoy.

"Where the hell were you!?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked.

"You didn't come back! I was worried sick!" Draco exclaimed, looking distressed.

"Worried?" Harry echoed in honest bewilderment before he shook his head and chuckled fondly. "Draco – I went to the Dark Lord's manor, not on some raid or something. What's there to be worried about?"

"What's there to be worried about!?" Draco exclaimed. "Are you mental? _You went to the Dark Lord's Manor_, and then you didn't come back! I think that's cause enough to worry!"

Harry stepped around Draco to walk across the hall to his room and the blond followed, pouting indignantly the whole way.

"Draco, don't be silly. You know that he and I are the furthest thing from enemies – what did you think would happen? That he'd _kill me? _Merlin, you're worse than Sirius. _You_ should know better."

"I –" Draco started to defend himself before huffing out in annoyance and shutting the door to Harry's bedroom. "Fine, whatever. I apparently worried about you going to the home of the most terrifying and powerful wizard of our age, for no reason. Do forgive me," he drawled in annoyance.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked over to his wardrobe but hesitated as he considered the transfigured clothes from Marvolo instead. They were quite nice, honestly, and they smelled of the other man. It wasn't like Harry had worn them for a long period of time before the shower. In the end, he sided with ridiculous sentimentality over anything else and picked the shirt and trousers back up off his bed after grabbing a clean pair of pants.

"Not that I haven't undressed in front of you plenty of times in the dorm back at school, but do you intend to continue gaping at me, or can I have a moment's privacy?" Harry asked airily as he slipped the pants on without removing the robe.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Draco had blushed slightly and turned to scowl at the opposite wall. Harry chuckled and shook his head fondly before removing the robe and slipping on the rest of his clothes.

"I do appreciate that you were worried about me, Draco. Thank you for your concern, but, as you can see, I'm fine," Harry said as he buttoned up his shirt.

Draco continued to scowl sulkily but did finally sigh and nod his head. "What were you doing all night, anyway? Why didn't you floo back when it got late? Or at least floo to let me know you weren't coming back?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "We were just... busy. And it didn't really occur to me that anyone here would actually think to be _worried_ when I didn't return for the night. It got late and Marvolo offered me a bed for the night."

Draco frowned. "Who's Marvolo?"

"Oh – sorry. _The Dark Lord_," Harry said, rolling his eyes and grinning.

Draco blinked at him. "I thought his alias was Marcus. Where does _Marvolo_, come from?"

"It's his middle name. His _real_ middle name. Marcus is a completely fabricated alias, as I'm sure you know."

"But why would you call him by his middle name?"

"Because he hates his first name?" Harry offered up, with an amused grin. "His first name – _real name_ – is Tom, which was his father's name, so he _hates_ it. It's probably worth mentioning that he killed his father when he was sixteen. Marvolo was his grandfather's name – not that the man was worth much, but he was a wizard, and a descendant of the Slytherin line."

"Wow... how can you possibly know so much about him? How did that _happen?"_ Draco asked, a bit stunned.

Harry shrugged. "I actually learned most of it during my _first_ life. Dumbledore had decades to try and dig up as much dirt about the man as he could, and he shared some of it with me while trying to _prepare me_ for my _destiny_," Harry said sarcastically.

"That's so weird... it's still hard for me to really wrap my head around the idea of you having _killed_ the Dark Lord in your previous lives."

"Nearly every one of them," Harry said with a dismissive but somewhat tired tone.

"And he's really okay with you calling him by his middle name?" Draco asked, dubiously.

"Well, it was weird for me to call him _Voldemort_, because he's practically a completely different person now than he was in any of my previous lives. It was just sort of a necessary mental disconnect for me – separating 'Voldemort' from the man I've allied myself with now. I mean, I _know _that they're the same person, technically, but he's got his sanity restored now, where as the creature I faced in my previous lives – the man that I _killed_ repeatedly – was completely off his rocker. So I needed a different name for him, and he wouldn't put up with me calling him Tom, because he _hates_ the name Tom. 'Marvolo' was a compromise."

"I can't believe he'd let anyone get away with calling him anything by The Dark Lord," Draco said.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, I'm not doing that. I mean, sure, I'll refer to him as 'The Dark Lord' in certain company – like your father, or you – but I wouldn't call him that to his face. That'd be just weird. Besides, he's not _my _Lord. He and I are partners. We're equals – I'm not one of his subordinates. I don't think that even _he_ would want me speaking to him that way – it would just be too weird for how our relationship works."

"I guess I just have trouble imagining anyone who knows who he really is, treating him like a normal person," Draco said, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "I mean, I get that most people think that he's just a wizard with a lot of money and growing political influence, and sure, _they_ can treat him normal, but that's just because they don't know any better, and he keeps his power hidden..."

"But that's the thing – I know him better than anyone else," Harry said with a smirk. "To me, he's a man with strengths and weaknesses – he's got his faults and I am intimately acquainted with them, but I also see his strengths more clearly than others, as well. I get to see his _humanity_. You've really only interacted with him twice, and neither encounter was particularly lengthy. The first time, he was annoyed with you for interrupting us, but barely paid you any attention otherwise. And the other encounter, he was intentionally trying to scare the living crap out of you, so your point of reference for him is very narrow. He doesn't let many people – meaning _any people – _really get to know him because that gives him more power. If he's seen as this demi-god of a wizard by his followers, their loyalty is more secure. Either through awe, or terror, or both. I'm not necessarily in _awe_ of him, although there are times... but I'm definitely _not_ terrified of him."

"I suppose I can see that," Draco said slowly. "Although, I can't quite imagine how you could _not_ be terrified of him. His power... it was staggering."

Harry chuckled and shrugged.

The two continued to talk for sometime after that, although Harry did manage to steer the conversation away from Marvolo fairly quickly after that. Harry also eventually grabbed the protean-charmed book and sat cross-legged on his bed scribbling out the directions for brewing the various versions of his aging potion, while Draco rambled on about a number of different topics, ranging from the huge number of owls that had arrived that morning with letters for Harry in response to the 'Letter to the Editor' from the previous day; to the results of the Quidditch match between the Kenmore Kestrels and the Falmouth Falcons.

And while Draco spent a lot more time going on about the Falcons, Harry was far more interested in the letters. Apparently Lucius was having the house elves sort through them and Harry made a note to go collect them later in case there was anything important contained therein. Draco told him that the manor's wards prevented Howlers from getting past the front gate, so if there had been any – and Harry was sure that there had probably been at least a few – then they'd never actually made it into the house.

Harry also told Draco about Sirius' impromptu visit to the manor that morning, as Draco had missed it entirely, and hadn't even realized that his mother's cousin had paid them a visit.

The pair joined Narcissa and Lucius for lunch, and Lucius basically repeated to Harry what Draco had said earlier about how he had instructed a house elf to separate the mail, and promised to show Harry the room where the elf had been sorting them. After that, Narcissa actually struck up a conversation with Harry, expressing her curiosity over the level of relationship that Harry held with her cousin Sirius.

Lucius looked anything but interested in any suggestions of extending invitations for further contact with Sirius Black, but Harry did end up promising Narcissa that he would look into encouraging Sirius to keep in touch. Harry was honestly surprised by her interest, as he'd never been aware of any attempts on her behalf _before_, to initiate contact with Sirius, but at the same time he also acknowledged that he'd never really known the woman before, and had made a lot of wrong assumptions about her in previous lives. She was an especially extreme example of the Malfoy's tendency to put on different personas depending on the company they were interacting with, and Harry had never before been on the inside of her 'friendly circle' – or whatever the hell it was he found himself considered, now. He had the somewhat amused suspicion that if he asked her, she'd insist he was family. And technically, it was sort of true.

After lunch was complete, Lucius made an excuse about meeting with someone in London and quickly flooed away. It was a Saturday, so Lucius did not actually have any work at the Ministry to attend to, and Harry got the distinct impression that Lucius was not entirely comfortable around him at the moment, and was actually _avoiding him_. This actually served to amuse Harry more than anything else.

Later on, in the afternoon, while Harry was sitting out in the garden and Draco was shooting through the air after a new snitch his mother had just given him, Harry felt the wards shift around the grand manor, indicating that someone had just been permitted to enter.

Harry was not actually tied to the Malfoy's system of complex wards, and thus was not actually notified by the magic of the wards themselves with any details about the arrival. Despite this, Harry was quite a bit more sensitive to slight shifts in things than your average wizard was, after all these years of learning just how to properly listen, so he felt something anyway. Learned-sensitivity aside, it was actually the identity of the wizard in question, who had just arrived, that most obviously alerted Harry to the arrival.

Harry set the book in his lap aside and stood from the garden lounge he'd been relaxed in. Narcissa was sitting not far from him, sipping a cool amber-colored beverage of some sort, and she sat up a bit straighter, turning and glancing back towards the manor, no doubt having actually received a notification from their wards, as she was actually tied into them, unlike Harry. She paused and looked over at Harry. "Were you expecting Lord Veras to pay you a visit?" she asked.

"Expecting? No, not so soon," Harry said absently. "I'll go see what he wants."

She nodded and went back to her drink and her book, while Harry walked back towards the etched-glass doors of the conservatory. Draco, apparently having taken notice of Harry's departure, landed his broom and followed.

Harry walked briskly through the halls to the entrance hall where he found Marvolo standing in wait, a smirk on his lips. Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight of the man – he looked rather brilliant, really. But then again, Harry didn't think he'd yet to see the man looking anything but perfectly edible. Even back when he couldn't even fathom the idea of _actually_ becoming romantically involved with the man, he'd found him attractive. The realization now that this stunning specimen was actually _his_, was actually quite thrilling. Even if the objective part of his mind, capable of taking a step back to look at the bigger picture, still found the idea of he and _Voldemort_ being a _couple_, utterly ludicrous.

That part of his mind just made him want to laugh, more than anything, now. Sure, it was ludicrous, but it was also surprisingly brilliant, too.

Without even thinking, let alone hesitating, Harry walked right to the man and the two embraced. Marvolo pulled him into a deep kiss that sent Harry's senses alight with magic and wonder, and he moaned into the kiss, pressing himself against the other man and delighting in the wonderful tingles that shot through his whole body.

Harry pulled back, a wide smile on his lips. "Hey."

Marvolo snorted, but smiled back fondly. "Good afternoon to you, as well."

"I wasn't expecting you to visit so soon."

"I received some unexpected good news," Marvolo said, as an accomplished smirk curled his lips. His eyes flickered over Harry's shoulder, and as Harry was about to turn to see what had caught the man's eyes, when Marvolo was suddenly coming back in and kissing him again. Harry moaned with a moments surprise before giving in to the kiss and enthusiastically participating.

A startled noise from behind him pulled Harry out of his enjoyment of the moment and he turned to find a pale, stunned-looking Draco, standing in the hall behind him, holding his broom in one loose-gripped hand.

Harry let out a slow sigh before turning back to glare at Marvolo. "You did that on purpose," he said in a flat accusatory tone. Marvolo simply arched a single brow, unapologetically.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "I can't believe you feel threatened by a fifteen year old," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. He huffed out another sigh, disentangled himself from Marvolo's arms and turned to grimace apologetically at Draco.

"I really would have rather you not have found out about it this way," he said simply.

Draco's adams apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. His lips were pressed into a thin line, which was only slightly better than the open gaping he'd been doing a moment earlier.

"Look... uhm... hey, Draco, you know back when we were chatting up on the astronomy tower and I told you I couldn't imagine dating anyone that I couldn't feel at least equal to, and you asked me if I intended to just be alone forever, because there was no way I'd ever find another 600-year old wizard and I jokingly said I didn't particularly care and that I'd kind of accepted that I'd never find someone I could reasonably see myself getting involved with?" Harry asked, still with that apologetic grimace. "Well, that was _before_ this happened. In fact, _this_ happened, just last night. And I really didn't see it coming. It just sort of _did._"

Draco nodded somewhat numbly.

Harry heaved another sigh. "Look... we'll talk about it later, alright?"

"I don't know why you would feel the need to apologize to the boy," Marvolo said dryly and Harry turned to glare at him. "You certainly never made any commitment to return his affection. You, in fact, told him that you _could not_ return his affections – correct? You do not owe him any explanations or apologies."

"He's my _friend_ and I prefer to at least attempt, to take the feelings of my friends into consideration," Harry argued. "I had hoped to reveal the change in our relationship _gently. _You have absolutely no tact in situations like this." Harry paused, glaring for a moment. "_Which reminds me!_ You _will_ be releasing Draco from that ridiculous contract you shoved down his throat, yesterday –_ behind my back._"

"I will not leave your secrets so vulnerably exposed," Marvolo refused imperiously.

"I've already sent off an owl to my solicitors firm and they'll be drawing up a more _reasonable_ contract. It should be here tomorrow and once it arrives, I fully expect you to come here and perform the ritual to dissolve the contract you made him sign."

Marvolo huffed and glared off to the side before turning back to glare at Harry. "Fine," he bit out in obvious annoyance.

Harry smirked a bit before shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle. Then, quite suddenly, he pointed over at Draco while maintaining a glare at the wizard opposite him. "Draco is a _friend_. You cannot seriously feel threatened by that – it's ridiculous! Perhaps some small part of me finds it amusing to think that you feel _jealous_ over _Draco Malfoy_, but a much larger part of me will quickly find it very annoying, so you need to get over it."

Marvolo gave him an annoyed, narrow-eyed glare and the two remained in a silent staring contest for several long moments before Marvolo huffed, rolled his eyes and glared at a wall instead. "I am not _jealous_, nor am I _threatened_ by Lucius' brat of a son. To even suggest such a thing is absurd," he drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course," he said sarcastically before looking back over at Draco with another apologetic look. "Hey, he and I have got some matters to deal with, so I'll see you later, alright?"

"I... right," Draco said, seemingly too off kilter from the entire thing to say anything else. Or perhaps just too intimidated by Marvolo standing there, as the man _was_ exuding waves of magical power without even the faintest attempt at muffling _any_ of it.

"If Harry does not return for the night, inform your parents that he is in my home," Marvolo said in a commanding tone. Harry felt the man's magic flare and he rolled his eyes at the Dark wizard while Draco flinched and paled slightly.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco replied quickly.

"You may go," Marvolo said to Draco imperiously.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said just as quickly and after a brief glance at Harry, he turned and left the hall.

Harry huffed out a breath before looking over at Marvolo and crossing his arms across his chest. He arched a single brow but said nothing.

Marvolo frowned in obvious annoyance and remained silent for a moment. "I am _not_ jealous of Lucius' spawn," he grumbled and turned towards the floo.

Harry snorted. "Just keep telling yourself that. I, however, can feel your emotions and am not nearly as inclined towards denial."

"Shut up."

Harry laughed and followed Marvolo to the large hearth.

"So why are we taking the floo and not just apparating?"

"You said you despise apparating," Marvolo said, pausing and looking back at Harry blankly.

"I hate _side-along_ apparition. Apparating myself is fine, and I've been to your place once already, so I can apparate back easily."

"In that case, I'll see you there," Marvolo said with a nod of his head before spinning on the spot and disappearing with a soft woosh.

Harry chuckled and spun, copying the man and reappearing an instant later in Marvolo's entrance hall beside the other man.

"So what am I doing here? You never actually said," Harry asked as the pair began to walk down the hall.

"As I said, I recieved some unexpected good news. About eight months ago I set one of my followers to the task of locating a manuscript for me. It's a book that I read while traveling through the middle east in my late 20's. The book is exceedingly rare as most copies of it have been destroyed, and I will admit that I did not have high hopes that he would succeed in locating a copy."

Harry's brows raised with interest. "But I take it that he did?"

Marvolo turned to look at him, smirking. "He did."

"So what's this book? Why are you looking for it?"

"For quite some time now, I have been thinking about what you've told me in regards to how the various magical communities dealt with the muggle's discovery of our existence in the future. The Russian wizards, specifically, and their establishment of an isolated and heavily defended preserve for magicals, very early on in the conflicts – a _magical nation_ unto itself."

Harry nodded his head. "The magical capitol, Baykal. They began forming and fortifying it only a couple years after the muggles started using their tech to dismantle our notice-me-not wards and identify our magical villages and shopping districts."

"Yes – you said that the Russians took up arms because their muggle government was one of the first to demand total registration and confiscating wands, where as many others larger muggle nations eased more slowly into the total assault on wizards rights."

Harry nodded again. "It also helped that the region – Russia and surrounding countries – had such a significantly large magical population. They succeeded mostly because they didn't hold back in their defense of their rights and their claimed space. They used dragons, wyverns, dementors, ritual magic and lethal means to fight off the muggles that tried to attack the wall they created. It also helped that they built their city-state in a mostly unpopulated area that was pretty vast and mostly unwanted, simply because of the shitty climate."

"Yes – Russia benefits from having large expanses of unpopulated land," Marvolo remarked.

"Unpopulated for a reason," Harry said with a sardonic smirk.

"Yes, quite true. Not the most habitable of spaces, but magic can make up for a lot of that."

Harry nodded. "Yes, and it did. They practically terraformed the region and had an artificial climate system setup within the magical country's boundaries, a good twenty years before I died in my longest life."

Marvolo hummed and paused to pull open the door to his study, motioning Harry inside and then closing the door behind them. "As I said, I have been considering this information for some time now. You expressed the desire to try and emulate their strategy, in improving the chances of survival for Britain's wizarding population. And while our willingness to fight them with the full extent of our powers and capabilities is unquestionably there, we lack a reasonable space to escape to, where we could build sufficient walls and wards to keep our population safe."

Harry frowned seriously and nodded in agreement as he sat down in one of the wing back chairs by the hearth. Jörmy slithered over and raised his head towards Harry's hand as it hung over the side of the arm rest and absently ran his fingers over the serpents head and neck. "It's something I've thought about as well. I was thinking about taking a big chunk of my inheritance and investing it in a few muggle companies that I know are going to go huge in the next coming years and use it to buy up a big chunk of land somewhere, but I don't know of any available real estate large enough to house all of our population, let alone a chunk of land that big that's actually _for sale. _And even if we could find it – we'd still be in the middle of populated Britain. There's not exactly a lot of vast open spaces here that could be effectively defended."

"I have a better idea," Marvolo said, smirking widely as he sat in the chair opposite Harry.

Harry's brow arched. "Oh? Do tell."

Marvolo waved his hand and a book sailed into his hand from across the room where it had been resting on his desk. He flipped through it quickly to a ribbon about half way through and handed it over to Harry with a smug look on his face.

Harry took it and glanced over the page for a moment before his eyes widened.

"Geothermal manipulation? Is this a ritual for creating a _volcano_?"

"Yes, it is."

"A _Volcano? Seriously?_ Okay, but... why?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"How are islands formed?" Marvolo asked simply.

Harry's eyes widened. "You intend to create _new_ land? That's it, isn't it? You're suggesting that we _create_ an _island!?"_

"I am."

"That's – that's _brilliant."_

"Yes, I know," Marvolo said airily.

Harry shook his head and chuckled. "You're modesty astounds me."

"I am brilliant and I know it. You can hardly blame me for being proud of that fact."

Harry grinned, shaking his head fondly as he went back to reading the page that lay open in his lap.

"This should work... but it'll take some time for the land mass to grow to a large enough size to house our population," Harry said as he continued to read.

"Yes, it will," Marvolo agreed. "It will require maintenance, every other day, at a minimum, to keep the lava flow going consistently and in the formations we desire."

"I won't be able to do that once I'm back at Hogwarts," Harry said with a frown as he flipped to the next page and began to skim over the arithmantic tables and charts for the ritual. "Also – how will we do this if we're in the middle of the ocean?"

"Don't worry about the logistics of the ritual. I've already got several things in mind for that."

Harry shrugged. "Alright. But that still doesn't do anything about the problem of me no longer being around to help out, once September starts. I imagine your schedule won't really allow for constantly disappearing all the time, either. If I'm reading this correctly, we'd need to be on the island for a solid twelve hours at least three times a week. I mean, we could always enlist stand-ins – it would require more of them to fill in for what the two of us could do on our own, but some of your followers could probably do this in our stead. But then, they've got the same problem with disappearing for prolonged periods of time without reasonable explanation."

"Yes, that is precisely what I was thinking as well. It has led me to reconsider the prospects of breaking some of my old loyalists out of Azkaban."

Harry blinked – surprised by the suggestion at first, but then turning the idea over in his mind a few times to imagine how such a move might work out. "Yeah... that actually might work. I mean, before, breaking them out was a bad idea just because there was nothing they could do that would be useful. In fact, they'd probably just get in the way and cause trouble."

"Precisely. They cannot wield political power, or even be seen in public. They cannot work as spies, and I have no use for random acts of violence at the moment. If anything, they would prove to be a liability and a nuisance, since I would have to find some place to house them, and would have to worry about them going stir-crazy or slipping out into public and being seen or caught."

"But if they were relocated to an island of our making, they could work on maintaining the volcanic magic and the growth of the land, and also be responsible for transforming the land into something habitable," Harry remarked, looking both surprised and intrigued. "It might just work out. Of course, your old Death Eaters in Azkaban will probably require at least a month or two months to recover from their stay with the Dementors before they'll be strong enough to be of any use to use for this."

Marvolo nodded in agreement. "Probably true, yes."

"So, if we wanted them ready to take over things in time for me to go back to Hogwarts, we'd need to break them out... well, _now._ That's kind of short notice, and I can't help but wonder what sort of impact a mass break-out from Azkaban would do to public support of some of our initiatives."

"I was thinking that we might need to go with something more _subtle_."

"How so?" Harry asked, frowning in curiosity.

"I was wondering as to the possibility of swapping out a select group of followers with replacements. Other people who could take their place, much like how Barty Crouch's father was able to get his son out, unnoticed, by leaving his dying wife there in the boy's place."

"Oh... that is an idea," Harry mused. "I know of a potion – it was created some ten years from now, I think, by someone trying to find a way to make Polyjuice last longer than an hour. She ended up inventing a potion that was _permanent. _It needed a sample of blood instead of hair, but that's hardly a big deal. Added bonus – the potion doesn't take a whole ruddy month to brew. Takes about 5 days, instead. So we can definitely replace the Azkaban Death Eaters with believable alternates, and if I get started on the potion right away, it should be ready and we can do the break-out in a week."

"We can place the replacements under the imperius to keep them docile, outside of the standard moans and screams all inmates make," Marvolo added dismissively.

"Yeah, but how the heck do we break into Azkaban with a group of imperioused people, break out some of your old Death Eaters, give the replacements the potions and ditch them in the cells, and then leave with your Death Eaters; all without anyone the wiser?" Harry asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Simple. We walk in; do just that; and then leave," Marvolo said, smirking.

"Uh..." Harry trailed off, dubiously.

"I have already received oaths of fealty from the Dementors," Marvolo said through a smug grin. "They have agreed to give me free entrance to the prison, whenever I want it. They will let me walk in, and walk back out, without a fight – and, without notifying the Ministry, of course."

"I know there are _some_ human guards... _right?_ We certainly had wizards stationed there after the war..."

"Aurors are only stationed on the island three days out of the week. It is, obviously, not an ideal assignment for any wizard. No one wants to spend time around Dementors – Ministry employees included. The only times when more than one Auror is actually there are during the monthly inspections."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course. So do you know for sure which days won't have any human guards on duty?"

"I have obtained that information from the dementors; representative I have been working with; so yes."

"Well, brilliant. Sounds like you've got this all figured out."

– –

Severus apparated into the now familiar entrance hall with a soft crack and felt the pull on his mark, calling him towards the same large room where the first Death Eater gathering had been a year prior. This was unusual entirely because that meeting had been the only large-scale gathering that he had been summoned to in all that time. Any meetings with the Dark Lord after that point had been more 'small scale'. Generally one-on-one meetings with just Severus and the Dark Lord, or Severus and Lucius, and maybe one or two others. Always a small enough group that the meetings ended up taking place in the Dark Lord's study, instead of the large converted-ballroom.

Severus pulled out his wand and conjured himself a bone-white mask, since he had neglected to bring one with him. It was usually unnecessary since the smaller gatherings were always with people who knew who he was _anyway_, but if this was going to be on a larger-scale, he preferred at least an attempt at anonymity.

No sooner had he donned the mask when another crack echoed through the hall behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder while shifting so that his back wouldn't be exposed. The man he saw standing there was only vaguely familiar, and he was clearly nervous, if his fidgeting was anything to go by. The familiarity existed solely because Severus remembered the man from the first war – he had been marked young and at the tail end of the war, and had very little participation in any raids before the Dark Lord's first fall, and was never named or arrested.

Severus was positive that the man had not been summoned a year ago, but had no way of knowing for sure if he'd been summoned at any point since then.

"Oh! Are we supposed to be wearing the masks?" the man exclaimed and Severus felt his lip curl in annoyed distaste. "I – I don't still have mine."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Then conjure one," he muttered before turning and swiftly walking down the hall towards the ballroom.

There were already four others in there when he entered, and one of them was obviously Lucius. The hair was unmistakable. Severus went over to stand beside him and the two remained silent for several minutes as the hall slowly filled up. The rookie from earlier appeared to have managed to conjure himself a mask, as he was wearing one when he entered the room a minute after Severus.

After five minutes Severus did a quick tally of those in attendance and was mildly surprised to find that there were 22 wizards and two witches present. The last meeting had only had fifteen, and Severus had been able to successfully identify all of them by the end of the gathering. He was fairly sure that he had no idea who some of these extra additions were, today.

Barty Crouch Jr. came in, not bothering with a mask and went over to Lucius' other side. "Hey Malfoy – do you know what this is about?" he asked in a quiet voice as he leaned into Lucius' side.

Lucius turned his head slowly and was no doubt arching a single brow beneath his mask, if the silent pause was any indication. "No," he said simply a moment later.

Crouch sighed and rolled his shoulders before looking around bored. "It's been a while since he summoned me. Not a lot of good I can do him, you know? Makes me wonder what this is about."

"I suppose you'd best be quiet and just wait, like the rest of us," Malfoy drawled.

Crouch rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the front of the hall.

The door in the back of the hall opened then and Crouch stood to attention, along with most everyone else in the hall. Severus had been prepared, to some extent, for the wave of magical power that always preceded an entrance by the Dark Lord, but the amount of magical power he felt seeping into the room was staggering enough that he felt his knees go weak. A small gasp escaped Lucius lips from beside him, but the blond remained stoic otherwise. The same could not be said for quite a few of the others in the room, however.

Several fell to their knees, and Severus was fairly sure that the startled cry he heard came from Avery.

The tall, imposing figure of the Dark Lord, cloaked all in black with hood drawn up and magically concealing his upper-face, stepped through the open doorway with proud, imperious grace. The magic was rolling off of him, the same as ever, and it by itself was more than enough to set many of the men in this room, trembling with fear and awe. But the magic did not stop with the Dark Lord's entrance. A second figure appeared directly behind him. This one wearing slate-gray robes, rather than black, but still with the hood up magically concealing the upper portion of his face.

It was this second figure that Severus found most shocking. Not because he was walking in with the Dark Lord like an equal, but because he seemed to radiate the same tremendous level of magical power as the Dark Lord did, which was a feat Severus would have previously believed impossible. Never in his life, had he imagined that a single man with as much power as the Dark Lord possessed, could exist, until he encountered the Dark Lord. But to encounter a second?

He always suspected that if Dumbledore were to fully unsheathe his own magical power, it would be comparable, but he had never yet born witness to such an occurrence. He'd gotten small tastes of the aged wizards power from time to time, but never the full thing, he suspected. This was the first time in his life, that he had experienced a _second_ wizard with such a monstrous supply of magical power, and to encounter these two men _at the same time_, was astounding.

A shuddering breath escaped Lucius' lips and he, as well as everyone else gathered in the room that was still standing, fell to their knees as the Dark Lord and the gray-cloaked stranger strode confidently to the center front of the meeting hall.

"My loyal Deatheaters," the Dark Lord called out in a pleased drawl as he settled into position in front of those kneeling before him. The gray-cloaked wizard stood just behind his left with his arms folded behind his back and his head high. "It pleases me greatly to see you all gathered here before me. For some of you, this is your first time being summoned to my side since my unfortunate fall, more than a decade ago. There have been clues, no doubt, to indicate my return, yet you had not been summoned until now. That you all have come when I needed you pleases me and your loyalty will not be forgotten."

He paused and looked over the group of men all still on their knees with heads bowed.

"You may raise your heads, my Death Eaters," the Dark Lord said in a light, high tone, and Severus caught a smirk on his dimly shadowed lips. "No doubt those of you who have not been called until now, and those of you who have been called only once or twice over the last year, are curious as to what reasons I have had for leaving you out of my machinations. The simple answer is that the skills many of you present to me have not necessarily been of use during that time. That, however, changes now." He paused to look out over the gathered crowd that watched him with rapt attention. Severus couldn't help but tense slightly as he wondered just what was about to happen that would require the Dark Lord to suddenly summon such a large group.

"I have taken a distinctly different road in my bid for control and change, since my return to physical form. The time spent as little more than specter and smoke permitted me much opportunity for reflection on past mistakes. In the previous war we relied far too heavily on _fear_ and _violence_. We made the people cower before us – too afraid to stand against us – and the Ministry too weak and incompetent to stop us. At the time I felt it was a tactic that was proving quite successful, but there is, of course, a fatal flaw in such methods," he paused dramatically to observe those gathered who were all watching him with rapt attention.

"A wise man once said '_However strong your armies may be, you will always need the favour of the inhabitants to take possession of a province'._ I wish to control Magical Britain and turn it into a nation that we can once again be proud to call ourselves citizens of. A Magical Nation where we are not denied our basic rights and do not cower in the shadows from muggles. But even more than that, I want to rule this nation without eternally struggling against one uprising after another.

"If we take magical Britain through fear and violence, we will always be seen as the conquering foe to be rebelled against. There will always be those who believe they need to _save_ the people from us. Instead, I want the people to see that it is _I _who am saving _them. _Saving them from an inept, corrupt, government that cowers to the whims of the muggles, and keeps the people ignorant and weak while stripping us of our rights and our history.

"To this end, I have been working for the last several years. Using stealth and cunning to spread my power and lay a foundation for the work to come. A regrettable result to this strategy is that I have had no true opportunity to address the pressing issue of the most unfortunate of my loyal Death Eaters. Namely those, presently incarcerated, in Azkaban Prison."

Several of those gathered seemed to shift with surprise at this, and Severus had to admit that he himself had not seen this topic coming either.

"The reality is that, right now, a mass breakout from Azkaban of Death Eaters would be very counter productive to the political and public machinations I have had in the works. Before now, I have had far too limited a space for housing them and would not be willing to put them up for the rather indefinite period of time that would have been necessary, as they would be the focus of an intense man-hunt by the Ministry. And on top of that, they themselves, would serve no useful purpose towards my plans. And yet, I have dwelled on their predicament. They were loyal to me and have suffered greatly for our cause. Surely you all would like to know that if you too were to be caught and arrested by the Ministry, that efforts would be made to free you?

"To expect loyalty and service from you is to hold responsibility for you as well, and I am not a man who disregards my responsibility. The time has come to free your brothers in arms from the clutches of the Ministry. The time has come for us to go to Azkaban."

This declaration was met with several startled gasps and quietly whispered exclamations of shock.

"Ah... do not fear, my Death Eaters. I could not possibly be giving you a simpler task. I have already made arrangements with the Dementors of Azkaban for clear passage in and out of the prison. We will go on a day where my intelligence has guaranteed there will be no Aurors or other Ministry wizards, stationed on the island. This is not a matter of storming the prison by force – in fact, stealth and speed is of the utmost importance. I do not wish for news of a mass break-out to hit the public – or even the Ministry. We shall be using Barty's father's model as a guide," here the Dark Lord paused and motioned his hand to Crouch who blinked while several looked to him curiously.

"Barty here was imprisoned in Azkaban at the same time as the Lestranges, and yet, he kneels here with you all now. He is believed long dead by the Ministry as his father was able to slip him out of the prison by leaving someone else behind in his place. We shall be bringing a group of men and a woman with us to the island; using a newly developed potion to permanently duplicate our comrades' appearances, we will leave the dopplegangers behind while leaving the island with our fellows.

"_No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution,"_ the Dark Lord said imperiously. "The Ministry _must not know_ of our actions. They must _not know_ that we are regrouping and rebuilding our power. They _must not know_ that I have returned. These are our realities if our goals are to be achieved. This mission to Azkaban must go off without a hitch and so I have called you all here to finalize plans for the attack and call for volunteers. Now, which among you can cast a Patronus?"

Severus considered it a distinctly pathetic reality that quite a few among the group did not raise their hands. A glance at those around him also told him why the Dark Lord had gone to the trouble of summoning in a larger selection of his old followers to this meeting, as several individuals from the group initially summoned a year ago, were among those who could not, apparently, summon a patronus. Apparently having political influence, or a Ministry job had no actual relation to one's magical ability. How shocking.

Avery, Jugson, Goyle and Crabbe – all of whom had been present before, now remained kneeling with their heads bowed in shame. Several of those who Severus was only vaguely familiar with, or presently unaware of their identities, in contrast, had their hands firmly in the air. The Dark Lord proceeded to ask those who had raised their hands a series of additional questions, narrowing the group down further until he was apparently satisfied with the abilities of his chosen raid party. He'd also assigned two of those gathered – a witch and a wizard who were apparently currently in the employ of St. Mungos – to the task of looking after the health of the freed Death Eaters, once they were actually free.

Those who hadn't made the cut were told they could leave after another reminder that allowing any of this information to slip into the wrong hands would result in a great deal of pain and punishment, both from their Marks as well from the Dark Lord's own wand. Finally they were left with a group of eleven wizards and one witch, the Dark Lord, and the gray-cloaked wizard, who had remained silent the entire meeting so far.

The Dark Lord walked slowly in front of the group, eyeing them speculatively in silence for a minute before coming to a stop at the front-center position again and facing them all.

"You shall be my raid group for this mission. If any of those among you feel even the slightest doubt in your commitment or ability to complete the mission, tell me _now._ The mission could not possibly be more well planned out for you, but one incompetent mistake could easily still ruin everything and the punishment you would receive for backing out now would be substantially less than the one you would receive for a grand failure during the actual break-out. Am I understood?" the Dark Lord said in a high, cold, and biting tone. The group remained silent and motionless for the heavy pause that followed.

The corner of the Dark Lord's visible lips turned up. "Good. Now, I think, it is time to introduce you, my loyal followers, to a dear _friend_ of mine. He and I have formed an alliance and he shall accompany us on this mission. He may join us for future missions as well; should his assistance again prove especially warranted by the activities we partake in. Death Eaters, meet Troy Harpter," the Dark Lord said with a dramatic flourish of his arm, in the direction of the gray-cloaked man.

The man in question stepped forward then, while the Dark Lord took a step back but remained standing tall and just as intimidating as ever as he glowered out over the gathered crowd from beneath his hooded cowl.

"Loyal followers of the Dark Lord," the man began and Severus felt himself start with stunned disbelief as he found the voice _just_ familiar enough that the man's potential identity flashed into his mind. It seemed utterly ridiculous, and yet it also explained everything. The idea of the Dark Lord willingly walking beside another wizard, and treating him as an equal in any regard, seemed downright impossible... except for in the case of _Harry Potter_.

_Troy Harpter._

Severus nearly rolled his eyes as the anagram rearranged itself in his mind. Surely the man could be a little less obvious?

Of course, it wasn't really _that obvious. Not really._ Honestly – who the hell would possibly suspect...?

Even Severus hadn't considered it until the man had spoken. Even _he_ had not realized – even _fathomed_ – that Harry was _this powerful_.

It was a rather stunning realization.

Severus was pulled out of his stupor and refocused on what Harry was actually saying.

" – first task is going to be a bit challenging for some of you," Potter was saying, "and it will require first-hand experience moving about the muggle world without drawing attention to yourselves. Who here among you has such experience? And I'm talking about legitimate experience – I need people who know how to dress like muggles without looking like fools and attracting stares, and people who know where to go in the muggle cities to find certain types of people."

Those gathered looked around at their fellows questioningly. Severus rather doubted that many of them actually had such experience.

He sighed and raised his hand. Barty also raised his, as well as a few of those that Severus was unfamiliar with.

"Good," Potter said with a nod, "You will be responsible for collecting our ten dopplegangers. We're going with muggles because they'll have less tolerance against the power of the dementors, and no tolerance against the Imperious. Anyone who hears them screaming will just assume they're insane, because anyone who has been in Azkaban for as long as the Death Eaters currently incarcerated, are generally insane, anyway. And the muggles will actually _go_ insane within a few weeks or months, because of their utter lack of defenses.

"More so, we need to get a variety of muggles, as far as age and health are concerned. Being muggles with no magical defenses, they won't last long in Azkaban, but we want to make sure that they don't all end up dead at the same time. It wouldn't be too odd if the Death Eaters start 'dying off' after all this time, but it would be considered odd if they all do it within a month of each other. I want the group of you to coordinate what sorts of muggles you each get. We only need one female, but we need nine males. Stick with homeless people, and perhaps find one or two elderly muggles who live alone and have no family left. People who are likely to go unnoticed if they disappear. Chances are slim that many witches or wizards would notice a news report about a bunch of muggles disappearing suddenly, but I'd rather not even take that risk."

The wizard, _Harry_, paused then and tilted his hooded head slightly to the side, as if debating what to say next.

"Those of you that raised your hands about the muggle knowledge – have you all successfully cast the Imperius before? Are there any of you who've never cast it?"

Those gathered glanced around at each other and three of them – all Death Eaters that Severus was unfamiliar with – hesitantly raised their hands. Honestly, Severus found it almost humorous to think that this was a situation where one was _embarrassed_ to admit that they'd never cast one of the Unforgivables.

"Alright," Harry said with an acknowledging nod of his head. "Then we'll be having a bit of an impromptu class, here. It's not that hard of a spell to cast – honestly, the fact that it's kind of _easy_ is one of the biggest reasons it's outlawed. I cast it for the first time when I was still a teenager without any instruction or preparation beforehand. The real trick is to really _want _the other person to do what you want them to do. You've got to be _determined_.

"Now, you three come out here – we're going to practice it, here and now."

The three hesitated for a moment, glancing over at the Dark Lord who had stood imperiously, but silently, behind Harry, since he had begun speaking. The Dark Lord gave them a curt nod of his head and the three quickly moved to the front of the group where Harry was standing.

What followed was a twenty minute lesson in the Imperius curse. He demonstrated the curse on each of three, stating that knowing what it felt like from that angle would give them a better perspective on casting it, themselves. Then he had the three take turns casting it on each other, until Harry was satisfied that they'd be able to cast the curse on any muggles, with success on the first try.

Severus doubted that they'd really have any trouble – they were all three fairly successful with the spell – and that was casting it against _wizards. _Muggles had no natural defense against the Imperius, at all.

After that, some more instructions on the mission were dispensed – mostly pertaining to bringing the muggles back to the Dark Lord's manor, when each was captured, and where they were to be taken – then a brief overview of when the actual break-out would be taking place and what to expect from the mission. Then the Death Eaters were finally dismissed.

"Lucius, Severus – remain behind," the Dark Lord said as the group of Death Eaters had begun to disperse. As soon as the room had cleared of everyone except for Severus, Lucius, the Dark Lord and Harry, the Dark Lord make a swift jerking motion of his head and began to stride from the room with Harry at his side an instant later. Severus and Lucius quickly followed suit and the four traveled through the old manor house until they reached the Dark Lord's study. It was certainly not the first time that Severus had set foot in the room, but it was not an entirely common occurrence to be invited there, and his visits there were usually brief.

Upon entering the room, the Dark Lord pulled his hood down and fluidly removed his cloak, revealing the fine, aristocratic face Severus had slowly grown to associate with his master, since his return to physical form. The Dark Lord tossed the robe casually over the back of his desk chair and then proceeded to make his way over to a large leather wingback chair by the hearth where he gracefully took his seat.

Harry mimicked the action, just as casually, although probably not quite as graceful. Harry exhibited none of the hesitation a person might have were they uncomfortable or unaccustomed to being somewhere. The casual behavior told Severus just how comfortable Harry really was here, which was almost surprising, but this was _Harry_ he was talking about. The man even seemed perfectly comfortable in Severus' company in his office back at Hogwarts.

Harry removed his own slate-gray cloak and tossed it to the same chair –_ over top_ of the Dark Lord's cloak. Severus heard the slightest whimper escape Lucius' throat when Harry's face was revealed. Severus himself, honestly felt the urge to choke, somewhat, but not because he had held any doubt as to Harry's identity, but entirely because of how damn much Harry resembled his damnable father, in his current, older-looking state.

This older version of Harry was probably in his mid-twenties – or rather, he _looked_ like he was in his 20's. Obviously that wasn't his _actual _age, but Severus figured that Harry's _actual age_ was rather relative, really. Severus had figured, during the meeting, that Harry had probably used an aging potion, just from his height, deeper voice, and his apparent build beneath the heavy cloak. Lucius had already told Severus about Harry's earlier use of an aging potion, so it had been a reasonable assumption to make, when Severus had first deduced the 'mysterious wizards' identity. However, knowing that Harry was going to look older, and actually _seeing it_, and just how much he resembled his blasted father, were two very different things to grasp.

Severus was fairly sure that Lucius had made much the same assumption about who ' Troy Harpter' truly was, during the meeting, but perhaps he had been less sure than Severus had been – up until Harry had revealed his face, that is. Severus somewhat doubted this, though, since Lucius himself had exclaimed only two days prior, that Harry had demonstrated a stunningly monstrous amount of magical power, and there were so few wizards in the world who could even come close to the power level the Dark Lord possessed. Severus had accepted that Harry could probably do some outrageous things, but he had honestly never anticipated that Harry had _this much_ magical power.

Severus, himself, was still in a mild state of disbelief over Harry's power, actually.

It was easier to doubt his own senses now, as Harry began to muffle his magical aura in the same way he must _always_ muffle it. He apparently no longer felt the need to broadcast his power level, now that they were in a more intimate gathering. The Dark Lord performed no such act, however.

Harry flopped himself with graceless casualty into another wing-back chair, leaving the couch as the only remaining seating around the fireplace, so Lucius and Severus stood by it and waited until the Dark Lord made a motion with his hand to indicate that they should sit. Harry just grinned at them.

"Severus, there is a potion – a variation on the Polyjuice potion – that I will be needing you to brew, in order to perminently alter the appearance of our muggle dopplegangers," the Dark Lord began promptly.

"I was under the impression that the mission would take place a week from now?" Severus asked.

"The potion only takes five days to brew," Harry replied instead. "It's a significant improvement over Polyjuice in a number of ways – unfortunately, or fortunately in our case – it's permanent, and the potion won't work again after it's been used once, so it's uses are limited."

"I see. I assume you will be supplying me with the instructions on how to brew it?"

"Yeah, we can arrange a time tomorrow to go over it," Harry said with a nod before turning his attention back to the Dark Lord with an expectant look on his face.

"Lucius, I have called you here this evening because Harry says he wishes to fill you in on certain... _details_. Details pertaining to his own history and personally kept secrets. I am of the opinion that the fewer people who are aware of these details, the better, but they are _his_ secrets to tell, and if he wishes to do so, there is little I can do to stop him," the Dark Lord stated blandly, but Severus could see the hint of irritation in the Dark Lord's eyes.

In contrast, Severus caught the slightest flash of triumph in Lucius' eyes, but the blond managed to otherwise keep his face impassive.

"These details are obviously very sensitive in nature, and, as Harry and I do agree that keeping the number of people in-the-know to a minimum is for the best, I will insist that you refrain from repeating it to _anyone_. As I am here, the information will be considered sensitive within the secrecy restrictions that you are held to by your Mark. As you know, should you ever attempt to betray my confidences in such a situation, you will suffer a great deal of _pain_. Am I understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius said instantly.

"Good. As Severus, of course, already knows, so he can remain. We have additional matters to discuss when Harry is done."

The Dark Lord took a moment to glare at both Lucius and Severus. Both them, of course, remained perfectly stoic, despite the oppressive force of the Dark Lord's magic, pressing down upon them. Finally the Dark Lord seemed satisfied and gave a sharp nod of his head before turning and giving Harry a look that Severus thought looked both annoyed and resigned.

Harry just smirked at him before turning his head to look at Lucius and Severus on the couch.

"I get that you've been dying to know the truth for quite some time now. It's probably been driving you crazy that Draco found out before even you did. Before, honestly, you just didn't need to know, and it was just that simple. But I realize now, that you probably _deserve_ to know the truth, considering the position you've put yourself into by agreeing to become my legal guardian, and offering up your home to be during the holidays.

"I do appreciate what you're doing, and the best way I think, that I can show that gratitude, is to just be honest with you. So here goes. Physically, I'm fourteen years old. I was born, fourteen years ago – this body _is_ fourteen years old. But mentally, magically, and spiritually, I'm over six hundred years old. I have relived my life, eleven times. This life, is my twelfth life. I'm not being reincarnated as a new person every life, and somehow remembering it – I'm being reborn as the _same person_ over and over again. So it's sort of a time-travel thing, too.

"My first life, I lived to the ripe old age of 149. I lived a very full and reasonably satisfactory life – got married to the girl everyone expected me to, had a bunch of kids who each had a bunch of kids, and so on. I died of old age, fully expecting to just... die. Move on. Whatever. But I didn't. I died and the next thing I know, I'm being born. I'm an infant, and my mother is there, laying down, sweaty and panting, and crying and smiling down at me as the doctors laid me on her chest.

"It was the most wonderful and horribly confusing moment of my life. I eventually understood that I had somehow started over at the beginning. I still remembered everything that I'd done in my previous life, and I eventually realized that I'd even kept my magic. Of course, as a wizard ages, their magical core slowly grows in size and capacity. I had the magical core of a hundred and fifty year old wizard, and that went back with me.

"My second life, I tried to 'do things better' – fix all the mistakes I'd made – save more people... I don't know. In that life, I lived to be 130 before dying of natural causes. And then I woke up screaming and being held by my sweaty exhausted mother again. You can imagine, I started to get pretty frustrated and panicky over the whole thing. It no longer seemed like an opportunity to 'do things better' and started to become more of a curse.

"When you keep redoing your own life, it gets to a point where it stops having any meaning. My third life I lived to be 112, but after that I stopped living quite as long. My fourth life I died at 62 – killed by muggles in a battle during the great magic-muggle war. My fifth life I killed myself at age 10. Sixth life, I lived to be 35, before I thought that maybe I'd changed what I was trying to change that go-around, and killed myself. Obviously, it didn't make any difference. My seventh life I let a Dementor suck out my soul at age 13 in hopes that maybe _that_ would be permanent. But it didn't do anything. Actually – if it did anything, it cost me 13 years of magical growth. When I was reborn, it was like my magical core was at the exact same level it had been at, at the end of my sixth life. Like the seventh life was just nixed. Not that thirteen years of aging makes that big of a difference, since the core's growth is so slow. But I did managed to detect that difference, and it was the only indication I had that having let a Dementor suck out my soul had any different effect, at all."

Harry took a deep breath then and sighed, grimacing in seeming annoyance or frustration. Severus chanced a glance over at Lucius and found the man sporting an utterly stunned expression. He imagined he hadn't looked much different when Harry had told _him_ the truth, all those years ago.

"Let's see... my eighth life, I lived to be 42 and was killed by muggles. Ninth life I lived to be 28 before I killed myself. Tenth life I only lasted to age 6 before I killed myself, and my eleventh life I lived to ten before killing myself. Pretty much each life I settled on a theory for what I could try doing different, in hopes that maybe _that's_ what I need to change so that I could actually die. Obviously, nothing has actually worked, yet."

"Huh... so it's basically like the wizard... what was his name... ah yes! _Avitus_ of Syracuse?"

"Who?" Harry asked, frowning blankly.

"Avitus... I read... it'd been a very long time. There is a book, written in Latin, in my family's library. I read it when I was quite young. He wrote it himself and it was something of a biography. According to his own telling, he was stuck in something of an endless loop. That he was repeating his own life, again and again."

Harry slowly sat up much straighter in his own chair and a look of stunned interest filled his eyes.

"Do you still have it?"

"I can't imagine why I wouldn't. Nothing leaves my family library without my permission."

"Can I see it?"

"Of course," Lucius said with a gracious nod in Harry's direction.

"I too, wish to see it when next I visit," the Dark Lord stated airily.

"Of course, My Lord," Lucius said quickly bowing his head in the Dark Lord's direction.

A moment of silence filled the space and Lucius looked back at a deeply thoughtful looking Harry speculatively for a moment as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. "So, from what I have gathered from your telling... you're basically just trying to die?"

Harry seemed to shake himself out of his own foggy thoughts and shrugged a bit in Lucius' direction and sat back in his chair. "Right now, I'm just trying to make sure that the Dark Lord wins the war and gains control over the wizarding world of Britain. The eventual goal, from there, is to try and save magical Britain's wizarding community from the muggles, after they discover us and war breaks out. Which, admittedly, we've still got some time before that shit hits the fan. But its a lot to prepare for, so it's good that we're starting early. I'm honestly trying not to think about what comes _after_ this life. It always tends to kill my motivation to _get anything done_. The idea that everything I may accomplish here will be wiped away in the blink of an eye tends to induce apathy and suicidal tendencies in me."

"Wait – discovered by the muggles?" Lucius said with suddenly registered surprise as he sat up a bit straighter. "You're saying that they're going to realize that we're here and war will break out?"

"Yup," Harry said with a bored shrug. "It gets pretty brutal. We're talking confiscated wands, forced 'registration', public unrest and terrorist attacks on both sides, and eventually even concentration camps in a number of countries – _including Britain_, believe it or not. Fortunately that didn't last more than two years before saner people regained control of their countries, but the damage was still done. And of course there were some countries in the world where there were officially-run extermination campaigns. They were, obviously, kept very quiet at the times they were happening, and were mostly happening in the smaller, third-world countries."

"Merlin," Lucius whispered in shocked horror. "But... how could they possibly succeed in such things? Surely they couldn't possibly stand up to us, to any reasonable extent? _Mere muggles?_"

"First, it's important to acknowledge that there are a whole hell of a lot more of them, then there are us. But even without their advantage in population to take into account, this war broke out several decades from now and their technology had advanced even further than it is right now. In my longest life time, they had never found a way to replicate magic, using their technology, but they did develop ways to neutralize it. They could create these fields that nullified any magic in a vicinity, including our notice-me-not wards, disillusionment spells, and even Imperius."

"_No_ –" Lucius whispered, the horror in his voice and face only growing with each additional word.

"Yes. And in all my lives, I've never managed to do anything to stop it. The muggles _will_ discover us – it's inevitable. And war _will_ break out. We _will_ be outnumbered, and things _will_ go very bad for us, for a great number of years before anything starts to get better. Huge chunks of the wizarding population will end up dead, and our culture as we know it, will be decimated. Or at least, it _was_ in my previous lives. I'm hoping that, in Britain at least, we can do something about some of this. That's what the Dark Lord and I are focusing on right now."

Lucius' curiosity perked up. "How so?"

"We are going to create a safe-haven for our people to escape to and live," the Dark Lord interjected, instead. "Harry has told me a great many things about the wizard-muggle war and how it was handled differently by different wizarding countries and which ones had the most success in retaining their lives, freedom, and culture. It was the Russian wizards that I felt were the most successful, and yet, in the beginning, they were the most frowned upon by the other magical world leaders, simply because they turned to violent defense of their rights, the fastest. They also isolated themselves within a huge city-wall of a sort and protected their borders with tremendous force. Harry and I have chosen to imitate this approach in much the same way. The first hurdle was that the wilderness of Russia is vast and unwanted and there was plenty of space to lay claim to, while he, do not have any such luxury."

"So we're creating it," Harry added, with an excited gleam in his eye. "It was the Dark Lord's idea – we're going to use geothermal magic to create our own volcano and use it to grow a landmass until we're satisfied with it's size and shape and cut the land-formation off."

"Create an island?!" Lucius gasped with both shock and obvious intrigue.

"It is why I have decided to finally rescue my old followers from Azkaban," the Dark Lord said.

"They finally have a use," Severus remarked with a sardonic tone. "And if they are on some forming island, they can't be seen by anyone here and start causing trouble."

"Precisely," the Dark Lord replied with a gleam of triumph in his ruby eyes.

"The only real problem is that they're going to take at least a month or two to recover, magically, from their time on the island. I rather doubt some of them will recover at all, _mentally_, but... well, I suppose we'll see," Harry added. "The Dark Lord and I will probably spend quite a bit of time on forming the new island this summer, although we still need to attend the Wizengamot sessions and attend to some other tasks. But once I'm back at Hogwarts, the Azkaban Death Eaters will take over the island maintenance full-time. Until that time... well, they'll have to be here."

The Dark Lord's lip curled in disgust.

"Well – here and at your home," Harry amended, looking at Lucius, who's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Yes... I was thinking that perhaps Narcissa would enjoy the opportunity to look after her sister," the Dark Lord said with a gleam in his eye that told Lucius that it was _not_ a mere suggestion, and any arguments against it would not be well received. "The Lestrange brothers, as well. Perhaps one or two others will also join them in your home. I will not be here full-time to monitor those whom I have no choice but to take into my home, and as such, they will be monitored primarily by my house elf. Not the strictest possible security or guidance."

"Not to mention that some of them would probably be right arses to your elf," Harry muttered.

The Dark Lord gave a very slight nod that seemed to indicate that he didn't exactly disagree with Harry's statement. "In any case, that is how things presently stand. Do you have any additional questions at this time, Lucius?"

Lucius seemed to pause for a moment to pull himself together before giving a confident shake of his head. "No, my Lord. I am confident that I understand all that you need of me."

"Good. Harry will probably be returning to your home after this, I suspect," the Dark Lord said before glancing over at Harry with a silent question in his eyes. Harry nodded his head. "Yes. Severus, you will go with them. Harry will provide you with instructions for brewing the polyjuice variant. I want you to get started on that right away – it must be ready for the raid on Azkaban."

"Yes, My Lord," Severus replied.

"Lucius, while Harry is aiding Severus, I would like for you to track down that book for him in your family library."

"Yes, My Lord."


End file.
